


Ad Hoc

by Guede



Series: The Marriage of Heaven and Hell [7]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angst and Humor, Baby Demons, Crack Treated Seriously, Demon Hunters, Fallen Angels, Incubus Cristiano, Interspecies Romance, M/M, Magic, Miscommunication, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 17:04:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6059155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guede/pseuds/Guede
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaká is still searching for answers to what happened to him, while Figo deals with the reality of long-term relationships with demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ad Hoc

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted in 2010.

Luís peered around the dark room till he figured out which side of the bed he was on, and then looked to the left at the clock on the bedside drawer. He grimaced and closed his eyes. Then he opened them again and pushed down on the head resting on his chest. “Now?”

Zinedine didn’t even answer. He rose up, the rounds of his shoulders slightly silvered in the dim light, and methodically continued licking down Luís’ breastbone. One of his hands slipped under the sheets and brushed off Luís’ hipbone, a feathery electric touch that got to Luís despite the hour.

“Not that I’m not interested, but my back still hurts,” Luís muttered, staring at the ceiling.

The licking stopped and Zinedine raised his head. He looked impassively down at Luís for a few moments. “Your back?”

“That issue with the cursed fridge I was telling you about over dinner?”

“I thought you said you took care of it,” Zinedine said, his brow furrowing. He shifted back on his arms and started looking Luís over more critically.

Luís gave himself another moment, then grudgingly pushed himself up against the headboard. Somewhere around the twelfth vertebrae of his spine he felt an awful spasming pain and hissed, putting his hand back to rub at it. He adjusted how he was lying against the headboard and the pain marginally decreased. “I _did_. But Zizou, part of being human is that—”

“You have that recovery time problem. Right. I forgot.” And Zinedine looked contrite enough about it, and he also probably didn’t consciously glance down towards their groins. At least, he probably didn’t do it in the self-flattering, testosterone-fueled way another person would have.

Sometimes it was just too late at night to be accommodating, Luís decided. “Anyway. Wasn’t that the door I just heard?”

Zinedine blinked once. It didn’t perturb his facial expression at all. “No.”

“Well, you’re learning about lying to get sex,” Luís snorted, throwing off the covers. He swung his legs over the bed’s edge, then yanked them back up as his left foot touched something furry. “Damn it. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you, but you should know better than to—oh.”

Staring back at him from the floor wasn’t some smartass smirk, as he’d expected, but was instead a pair of startled eyes that only looked small because each of the ears topping them could have comfortably served as a blanket for the fox kit. Luís shut his mouth, glanced around for any parents—even demon parents apparently didn’t want their spawn being foul-mouthed too early—and then cautiously picked up the kit. It seemed to realize it wasn’t in trouble and settled quickly in Luís’ hands, bumping its head against his finger. “Hiiii. There’s somebody at the door downstairs for you. Cesc was trying to say you were busy but they still wanna see you.”

“All right, I’m coming.” Luís put the kit down on the bed, then spent a longing moment gazing at the warm dent he’d left in the sheets. Then he shook his head and started looking around for some clothing. “Do you know who it is?”

“It’s that baby priest who comes with Lilian, and thinks evil isn’t allowed to be cute,” the kit chirped. It rustled around in the sheets before suddenly squeaking; Luís glanced back but relaxed when he found it was only Zinedine picking up the kit. Since he utterly spoiled the little furballs, they all adored Zinedine and this one was no exception, with its batting lashes and winning smile. “Were you two making kits?”

Thank God that Luís taken an extra moment to shake out his trouser-legs instead of just jamming them on, because that would have made his trip even more embarrassing. He caught himself against the wall and straightened up just in time to catch Zinedine, face solemn, telling the kit: “Nestlings. Foxes make kits, hawks make nestlings.”

“ _No we weren’t_ ,” Luís hissed, and silently cursed his taste for non-traditional bedmates. He yanked on his trousers, then pulled a t-shirt over his head and went back over to the bed to get that annoying kit. Now that he was thinking about it, it did bear more than a passing resemblance to Cesc, who like all other fox-demons had dozens of family relations. Then he looked up, thinking he’d caught an odd twitch in Zinedine’s face. “Hmmm?”

Zinedine looked back calmly, then put out his hands. “I’ll watch him. Go answer the door before the priest destroys anything.”

“Sometimes I wonder whether that _is_ the less dangerous option.” But Luís gave back the kit and then headed downstairs.

Lilian had taken to the household as if he’d been a part of it for years, but his younger colleague was still…well, when Luís was being generous, he’d say Kaká was having trouble with a nasty identity crisis. Right now, aching and tired and frustrated, Luís was more inclined to chalk it up to a case of long rigid object up the anal passage.

When Luís came into the living room, he found Kaká standing stiffly by the door to the bookshop out front. The man claimed he wasn’t in the clergy any more but his wardrobe hadn’t expanded much from black with the occasional severe touch of white. He looked up at Luís’ approach, frowning. Then he glanced at his feet and tucked back his shoulders. One of his hands rose as if to scratch at his head, then froze in place. Just as well, given that the muck on his fingers didn’t look to be the sort of stuff one wanted to get in one’s hair.

“I’m sorry about calling so late,” Kaká said. “But—”

“Hang on a moment.” Luís detoured into the kitchen, then came back out with a couple dishcloths he could live without and a bottle that he shook up before handing to Kaká. He gave over one dishcloth, then bent down to spread the other out on the floor, under Kaká’s dripping hand. Baby demonspawn of any kind tended to be absurdly durable, but he still would rather not deal with the repercussions of them accidentally licking up the gunk. Then he got up and met Kaká’s half-puzzled, half-irritated eyes. “Where’s Lilian?”

The irritation flashed away, to be replaced with chagrin. But only briefly: Kaká straightened his shoulders again and tightened his jaw. “Father Thuram was worn out from his conference, so he didn’t come with me. It wasn’t that serious, so I don’t see the point in disturbing him now.”

“Ah. Well.” Brows raised, Luís stood back and let Kaká splash some cleaner over his hands. A strong rancid smell rose to his nose and he opened his mouth, then bit back his first comment. “Ghouls. Really.”

Kaká worked his jaw a little, thinking about challenging Luís’ dry tone. Then he dropped his gaze and concentrated on cleaning his hands. He was careful to work under his nails. “Thank you,” he said, nodding at the bottle of cleaner. “I was on my way home, but…I thought I’d stop by, and let you know so you wouldn’t be surprised by the morning news. The er, one of the trains might be delayed because of blockage.”

“Well, I don’t usually use the trains, but I appreciate the information,” Luís said. Something creaked in the direction of the bedroom and Luís manfully refrained from looking over. Instead he held out his hand for the bottle and the dishrag. “Have a good night.”

“You…oh. Thanks. You as well.” For a moment Kaká continued his strange look at Luís. Then he had the sense to take the offered chance and he left.

He was powerful enough so that the spells needed a few seconds to fall back into place after his passing. Luís stood there and idly let the shifting patterns dance on the edge of his sight. If he didn’t concentrate, they faded almost into ordinary shadows.

“You’re dripping,” Zinedine said behind him.

By the time Luís had turned, Zinedine had already made the soiled dishrag vaporize away. It didn’t hurt Luís but it was an odd sensation, like something furry had squirmed in his hand, and he couldn’t help his start. Then he sighed and looked at the bottle of cleaner: almost empty. He muttered under his breath and the bottle momentarily filled with bright white light. Then it was dark again and the bottle was clean so he could chuck it at the nearest trashcan.

Zinedine had squatted down to prod at the towel on the floor. He pinched up a corner between his fingers and squinted at the stain-spots on it, his head cocked as if seeing around a non-existent beak. Then he wrinkled his nose. A quick flick of the wrist and that rag had vanished in a fizzle as well.

“That was Kaká,” Luís told the top of Zinedine’s head. “That former priest who has a Fallen One obsessed with him.”

“Is that why you got him out before he sensed me?” For another moment Zinedine stayed in his hunch, rubbing his fingers together. Then he rose and stepped up to Luís in the same fluid motion. He looked curiously at Luís. “He did respect your house rules while he was here. So do I.”

“Oh, it’s not that I think you would pick a fight with him and ruin my night even more,” Luís muttered, turning away. He considered the phone in the corner, then shook his head. “Or that he’d pick a fight with you. I’m just not particularly interested in his affairs.”

Zinedine produced the impression of a smile without actually moving his lips. “You think he’s boring?”

“I—no. Did you miss the Fallen One mention?” Luís looked around the room again, surprised at the lack of fox-eared shadows. It had been a quiet visit, but that had never stopped the eavesdropping before.

“No, but I’m not particularly interested in them,” Zinedine said dryly. He absently tugged at the loose sweat-pants he’d tossed on at some point. “What?”

After a long moment, Luís finally dropped onto the nearest chair. He rubbed at his nose, then at his eyes as a yawn took him off-guard. Then he dropped his hand to his chest and squinted up at the demon. “Well, it was just that I thought they were rather important, given that both Zlatan and Gianluigi flat-out won’t talk about them short of one actually showing up.”

Zinedine’s brows pinched together as he considered that. Then he shrugged his right shoulder. He came over to the side of Luís’ chair, surveyed the available options and eventually chose a seat on the edge of the stool in front of the chair. That squeezed Luís’ knees to the side but Zinedine didn’t seem to notice. “What do you want to know about them?” he asked, in all seriousness.

Luís sat there and tried to swallow a few times. Then he threw up his hands and spat out his breath, giving up on restraint. “Wait, so—”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, but you knew I had a family conference,” Zinedine said patiently. He moved his arms in an odd way against his sides; Luís mentally superimposed wings over them and finally recognized the movement. “But anyway, if you still have questions…”

“I—I am not, because it’s no longer my problem,” Luís finally said irritably. He exhaled again, then shook his head and leaned forward on his knees. Then he got his elbow on one knee and used his hand to prop up his increasingly aching head. “I’m just wondering if I do know anything about demons.”

Zinedine regarded him in silence for a good minute or so, as Luís massaged the side of his head. Then the demon cocked his head and focused on something around Luís’ temple. He lifted his hand, checked Luís for a reaction, and then started pulling individual strands of Luís’ hair through his fingers. “I don’t know what Zlatan and Gianluigi think of Fallen Ones,” he said, shrugging. “But I’ve met my fair share. They’re usually not that much trouble for u—for my tribe, since they’re so set on the Eternal War. Angels and human souls are what they want, not other demons. But I don’t take that for granted. Fallen Ones are harder to predict than demons. They change more.”

“Change more?” The preening was surprisingly soothing and Luís leaned his head into it, looking up at Zinedine.

The hawk-demon made a bit of a face. “They…I don’t know how to say it. They’re older, they didn’t start out as demons and now they don’t do what they were made to do, but they can’t go back to what they did. It makes them change suddenly. It’s like they stop making sense to themselves.”

“Are you trying to say they go insane?” Luís asked.

“It’s not the way people mean it when they say that,” Zinedine answered after a moment’s thought. His fingers went deeper into Luís’ hair, deep enough to tangle in a knot so that he had to stop and work them free. When he did, he lifted his hand away just enough so that he could look Luís in the eye. Then he leaned in and pressed his mouth to Luís’.

After a moment, Luís decided it wasn’t an awkward enough moment to kill his interest and cupped his own hands around the back of Zinedine’s head. He laced his fingers together, then let them slide slowly apart as he pressed them down Zinedine’s neck and into the curve linking Zinedine’s shoulderblades. Zinedine rumbled approvingly, stretching out his shoulders under Luís’ hands, all sleek warm muscle. He plucked at Luís’ shirt, then found the hem and pulled it up, only to find his efforts thwarted by Luís’ arms.

Alerted by the demon’s irritated grunt, Luís broke their kiss and lifted his arms onto Zinedine’s shoulders. His shirt came over his head so fast he didn’t have time to drop it, and the cotton caught his nose rather painfully. He jerked his head away from it, then rubbed his sore nose into Zinedine’s neck while Zinedine suggested with hands and mouth that they move to the floor.

“See? Nestlings!” said a thrilled little voice from somewhere by Luís’ right foot.

“But where are the eggs?” said another voice.

Luís cursed and twisted back, then froze as he tried to remember where his feet were. Once he determined that they hadn’t stomped anything furry, he planted them and bent over the chair-arm to find, inevitably, a pair of curious kits under the chair. “Aren’t you supposed to be in your den?” he said a little snappishly.

“The eggs are later.” Unperturbed, Zinedine scooped the kits out from under the chair and lifted them clear of Luís’ just-curbed temper. One giggled and play-bit his thumb; he grinned and kissed its ear before putting them both on the table, just as a harried-looking mother fox-demon finally showed up to collect them.

“Sometimes I think I should just pack them all off to Gilardino,” Luís muttered. Then he caught the funny glance Zinedine sent him and raised his brows. “I know you’re fond of them, but don’t you at least wonder about why they keep asking about that lately?”

Zinedine blinked. Then comprehension dawned. “Oh, if we’re making babies? That’s because it’s breeding season.”

Luís…eventually pulled his mouth shut. He reminded himself that he was an adult, well-versed in supernatural things and exhaustingly experienced in relationship foibles, thanks to Zlatan. “Breeding season for…Zinedine, this is one of those things that people like to discuss with each other before—”

“ _We’re_ not breeding with each other,” Zinedine said, a touch exasperated. He sat back on the table and scratched at his shoulder, and if they hadn’t been in the middle of a supremely ill-timed conversation, the way the moonlight limned his bare arm and neck would have been beautiful. “You know I can’t just do that. You have to help. It’s that time, nothing else. It doesn’t mean—”

“Well, thank God,” Luís said.

Zinedine fell silent for a few moments. He was perfectly still, like a marble statue from antiquity on Luís’ table. Then he cocked his head. “I thought you liked the kits.”

“I do. I’m just not a saint and they can get annoying, but I like them.” Luís rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen them up. So far as he could tell, he had absolutely no reason to feel on the defensive. “I just don’t want them waiting for eggs to pop out every time we have sex.”

“I wouldn’t mind offspring,” Zinedine said. He didn’t toss it out there as a challenge or hesitate or do anything usual when he said those words. He just spoke like he was telling Luís what he wanted for dinner. “I like them.”

After a long moment’s thought, Luís decided he’d start with breathing. Once that was successfully accomplished, he moved on to remembering Zinedine was a demon with socialization issues who Luís nevertheless appreciated having around. “Zinedine, you like the foxes’ spawn. They’re not your spawn.”

“I know that. I’d like my own, too,” Zinedine replied, just as tartly.

Luís winced. Surprisingly enough, Zinedine did as well. He kept his eyes on Luís, but shifted uncomfortably around on the table during the silence that followed. Once he clicked his teeth together.

“Is this not an appropriate time to talk about it?” Zinedine finally asked. When Luís nodded, Zinedine grimaced. He clicked his teeth again, then put his hands down on the table edge. “Do you want me to go for the night?”

“I don’t think…” Luís paused, then shook his head firmly enough “…no. No, I want you to stay. But I think we should sleep—well, I should go back to bed, and then we can talk about this when I’m more rested.”

Zinedine relaxed his grip on the table, but he was still watching Luís closely. He didn’t get up till Luís got up, but he swung in soon enough after Luís.

They went back to the bedroom and got in on different sides. Luís laid down on his back but Zinedine sat up by the headboard, legs tucked under himself, staring out the window. When Luís asked, Zinedine murmured something about not needing a rest and just shifted into a position that made him look even more like a vulture. The thought made Luís flinch and he rolled over onto his side. He made himself shut his eyes and stop thinking about it. If nothing else, he did know he’d be no good at trying to figure out things now.

* * *

“I’m sorry it’s so late,” Kaká said again.

Alberto shrugged and adjusted the dozing fox-demon in his arms. “It’s not a big deal. Actually, I’m glad for the company. Since we closed up for vacation, I haven’t really had much to do but Gianluigi’s out a lot so it gets kind of lonely.”

“You should come visit us more,” Cesc muttered. He looked sleepily up at Alberto, then stretched out, his tongue flicking out between his fangs. Then he flopped over Alberto’s arms and fell back asleep, bushy tail occasionally twitching across Alberto’s lap.

Kaká stared at Cesc, then looked studiously away as he resettled himself on the couch. By now he’d been around enough to see that the fox-demons weren’t very…well, interested in soul-stealing, but he still didn’t seem to know what to do with them. “Is it his translating job?”

“Huh? Oh, Gianluigi?” Alberto started petting Cesc’s head to cover up his lapse in attention. “No, not that. I think he goes out to make sure nothing bad is going on. Usually that’s what Zlatan does, but he and Paolo and Sandro are away, so Gianluigi gets kind of worried.”

“I thought Gianluigi hated all demons,” Kaká said, frowning.

“Jerk,” Cesc mumbled.

Alberto sighed and fiddled with Cesc’s ears till the fox’s breathing smoothed out again. “Um, well…he doesn’t like Zlatan much. But they’ve fought other demons together before, and even if he doesn’t like it, Gianluigi knows that Zlatan doesn’t want to do the whole Eternal War thing either. And they both hate having anybody else come in and make trouble. So…I guess you can say Gianluigi’s fine with Zlatan fighting somebody else.”

Kaká nodded thoughtfully, then raised his mug of coffee and took a sip of it. He paused to wipe his mouth off on the back of his hand before lowering the mug back to his lap. He looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes, and there was a weird-colored spot on his shirt-collar that Alberto kept telling himself not to ask about even though it looked a lot like demon gunk. “Has he noticed anything? Gianluigi, I mean, when he goes out—is anything going on?”

“Not that he’s said to me,” Alberto said. “I probably wouldn’t get it if he did tell me, but…no, I don’t think so. He comes back grumpy sometimes, but he’s never hurt so I don’t think there’s anything. Um, Cesc?” He gently bounced the fox-demon. “Do you think there’s anything wrong?”

Cesc twitched a few times, then shook his head and blinked his eyes. He squinted up at Alberto. “What? No. It’s been okay. Why? Gianluigi being a jerk to you again?”

“No, he’s nice.” Alberto’s arm was falling asleep, so he rolled Cesc onto the other one. Then he stretched out his numb arm for a couple shakes. “You know it’s not like he means to…to be like that. He just doesn’t understand everything…and well, it’s not like I’m the best person for explaining people to him…”

“ _You’re_ fine,” Cesc mumbled, nudging his head into Alberto’s arm. “He’s just dense.”

After a moment, Alberto just shut his mouth. It sounded like Cesc and he were saying the same thing, even if Cesc wasn’t exactly saying it in the nicest way. And anyway, it was late and he didn’t want to get into a fight, especially since Kaká was around too.

“I haven’t noticed anything either,” Kaká said. He glanced away when Alberto looked at him, then frowned at the corner while scratching the back of his head. Then he pushed himself up by the elbows and tucked one arm around his chest. “I was only—I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Alberto said automatically. “I get worried about everything.”

Kaká rubbed at one of his eyes. He looked tired—well, it was closer to morning than night, Alberto reminded himself. Then he stifled a yawn. He wasn’t halfway through it before his eyes slid over and he saw Alberto staring at him; he started and Alberto flinched. But Alberto had just opened his mouth to apologize when Kaká dropped his hand and smiled at him. “I’m sorry I came around so late, even if you’re fine with it. It’s only that I was on my way back, and managed to take a few wrong turns. I found your place but I thought I should have a rest before I tried to get home again.”

“No, it’s fine, really. I don’t mind, and I was up anyway.” Alberto noticed that Kaká’s mug was nearly empty and put out his hand for it. At first the other man didn’t seem to understand what Alberto was doing, but then he nodded his thanks and gave over the mug before Alberto felt too awkward about having his hand sticking out there. “And I know what it’s like to be that tired. Sometimes work…oh, I love what I do, but there can be so _much_. On days like that, it’s kind of a miracle that I ever make it out the door without, I don’t know, breaking my hand on the knob…here, wait a sec and I’ll get you some more.”

He hadn’t gotten more than half-off the couch before Kaká had jumped up ahead of him. It startled Alberto a bit, but somehow he managed to hold onto both the mug and Cesc.

Kaká grimaced and hesitated, then straightened up with his arm out to block Alberto’s way. “Oh, no, I should be on my way anyway. Thank you for the coffee, and the time.”

“Are you sure?” Alberto asked. “I made an entire pot, so if you want a little more…”

“No, no, I’m—thank you, but I’m fine,” Kaká said, smiling. He paused another moment, then took a firm step towards the door.

Maybe Alberto wasn’t the best maître d’ in the world, but he had learned a few things and one of them was when to know when someone really wanted to leave. He saw Kaká into the hall, made sure that the other man at least knew in which direction to head—good thing he did, since Alberto had been living here for years and still got lost—and then let him go. Then he shut the door like Gianluigi had showed him, with both the normal and the magical locks. He let out his breath when he didn’t get a weird tingle in his fingers, which meant he’d done them all right.

Alberto turned around and looked out at the empty apartment. It was a little funny how big it seemed when Gianluigi wasn’t around—when Alberto had bought it, it’d seemed on the small side but reasonable for the rent and the location. And when Gianluigi was around, the place was definitely too small, even if the angel insisted he didn’t mind bending himself almost in half to get into the shower. But now…

Something wiggled against Alberto’s arm and he jumped, then remembered Cesc and sighed in relief. He hugged the fox to him, grinning when Cesc looked up inquisitively at him. “Nothing. Just glad you came tonight too.”

“Oh, hey, if you’re that desperate for company, you should just call. Or come over—even if Figo’s asleep, I can let you in.” Then Cesc paused, cocking his head. “Probably he wouldn’t be mad.”

A snort escaped Alberto. He started to head back to the kitchen, but stopped when Cesc wriggled hard. He started to ask what was the matter and Cesc did a backflip right out of Alberto’s hands. The fox blurred, turned into a bigger blur and then was standing on two feet next to Alberto, frowning and scruffing his hair. Alberto let out the breath he’d been holding.

“But it’s weird,” Cesc added. “Did you know that Kaká knows where you live?”

“What?” Alberto waited for more information, but none came. Instead Cesc just stared at him, like he also thought he was supposed to hear something else. Finally Alberto shrugged and went over to get Kaká’s mug from the table. He picked it up and turned around. “He knows…well, I never thought about it, but I’m in the phone book.”

Cesc raised his brows, then abruptly dropped his gaze. He pulled at his nose. “So…you don’t think it’s weird that he looked you up?”

“Um.” For some reason Alberto felt like he was back in school and flunking yet another exam. He pulled at his neck, then told himself to stop stalling. “Well, I guess it’d be weird if he was just a customer or something. That would be scary, actually—I’ve heard a couple stories from other restaurant guys about unhappy customers who tracked them down at _home_. But he’s got magic and knows about angels and demons, and you show up all the time. I mean, I don’t know how you found out where I lived.”

“Well, ‘cause Figo told us so we could watch out for you, back when Gianluigi first fell,” Cesc said. “And anyway, we’re demons. We’re supposed to be nosy. Kaká’s still a human.”

Alberto pursed his lips a few times. He wasn’t really sure how to think about that, and eventually he just went into the kitchen with the mug. Sometimes it helped him think if he did chores at the same time.

Cesc pattered in after him and Alberto turned around expecting to see the demon in fox-form again, but Cesc was still person-shaped. But his fox-ears had come out and they were sticking straight up, so stiff that they looked like they could punch holes if Cesc headbutted something. The expression under them, however, was surprisingly worried. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel stupid,” Cesc hurriedly said. “I just don’t know what Kaká’s doing and I think he’s a little weird. He _was_ going home but then he came over here.”

After a moment, Alberto put the mug down in the sink. It needed to be washed so it should go there. That was about all he was sure of right now. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh. So I totally would’ve come over anyway if I’d known you wanted me to, but…well, the reason I was here tonight was ‘cause I was following Kaká.” A tail briefly flicked out from behind Cesc, then disappeared. His ears were flattening and straightening up as he shuffled in place. “He stopped by Figo’s place first, said he’d run into some ghouls and borrowed some cleaner. Then like I said, he came over here. And I don’t think he was lost. I think he meant to come this way.”

“Are you saying he was lying?” Alberto said slowly.

Cesc opened his mouth, then shut it and thought about it. He didn’t look like he really wanted to think about it, but he didn’t actually answer Alberto till a good twenty seconds had passed. “Well, he didn’t _technically_ lie, I guess. He did get lost, but then I think he changed his mind about where he was trying to go. And I think he already knew where this place was. It wasn’t like he just stumbled over it. And you didn’t ask him what he was doing up so late.”

“I think at this point, it’s better for me not to ask that kind of question. The last time I did, I was closing up when Zlatan came in, and he tossed around a couple fireballs.” Then Alberto hastily waved his hands at Cesc’s horrified expression. “Not at me! He was just mad about whatever he had been doing…and I never actually found out what that was. But anyway, it doesn’t seem like a good idea, usually.”

“Still, you’re flammable. He should watch it or Gianluigi will toast _his_ ass, and for once I’ll be on Gianluigi’s side,” Cesc frowned.

Alberto couldn’t help a chuckle as he turned back to the sink. He nudged on the tap and started to rinse out the mug. “Well, if it makes you feel better, Sandro came down and got mad about the burn-marks Zlatan was leaving on the walls and things, and they had a knock-down drag-out fight.” He paused, sponge oozing soap over his hand. “And then they started having sex, and even though I’m glad they always make up, I kind of wish they’d wait till I leave.”

Cesc made a funny little wheezing noise. Then there was a bang to Alberto’s left and he started, thinking that Cesc had hurt himself. But the fox-demon had just fallen into the wall because he was laughing so hard. In fact, he had to go back to fox-form in the middle of it so he could roll around, his paws twitching in the air.

Smiling himself, Alberto finished cleaning the mug. He set it on the rack to dry, then got down on the floor by a now-limp fox. His grin faded a little as he thought back over their conversation, and he put out his hand to get Cesc’s attention. “But do you think this is something I should worry about? Kaká seems all right to me, but I haven’t really talked to him much. And you know I don’t know about the magic stuff.”

Cesc flopped onto his belly. He was still panting a bit, but that went away after he shifted back to human-shape. He pulled himself into a cross-legged sit, frowning. “Does Gianluigi like him?”

“I…I don’t know,” Alberto said after a moment. “I don’t think he’s run into Kaká since the whole Andriy thing, and he’s never brought him up. He…I don’t think Gianluigi didn’t _like_ Kaká when he did meet him. It was more like he thought Kaká had done something stupid.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t help much. He thinks that about everybody except you,” Cesc muttered. He continued to look pensive. Then he shrugged and twisted over, and was a fox again. He walked over and hopped into Alberto’s lap, and put up his head for a pet. “Well, I don’t think it’s a big deal unless Kaká suddenly starts bugging you a lot. You’re human and he does seem serious about protecting you guys. If he changes his mind about that, I’m pretty sure Gianluigi will kick his ass, if Figo doesn’t get to him first.”

Alberto scratched Cesc’s head. He’d always thought only cats purred, but fox-demons could make a little whirring sound that was surprisingly similar. “Maybe Kaká’s just lonely? He’s in a new city and all, and given that the first thing that happened to him here was the Andriy mess, it must be hard to find people to talk to.”

“Mmm.” Cesc tipped his head so Alberto was scratching a new spot. After a minute or so, he roused enough to ask if Alberto had heard anything from Zlatan or Sandro and Paolo. And he didn’t mind if Alberto stumbled through a long, embarrassing story of the _one_ call he’d had from Paolo and its weird background noises and what those had turned out to be. He just listened, and then asked a couple questions so he understood. Then he laughed along with Alberto.

The kitchen still felt a little big, but at least Alberto had company till Gianluigi came home. He hugged Cesc again, then shook his head when Cesc asked what was wrong. “Nothing,” he said.

* * *

Since Lilian had taken up a temporary teaching post, the seminary had changed their room arrangements so they were no longer staying together. It was still the same building, but Lilian was housed near the library, while Ricardo had a room on the next floor up and a few halls away. While it wasn’t the point of the new arrangement, Ricardo did find his new room much more convenient for avoiding Lilian when he needed to.

He didn’t wish to keep the other man in the dark. And with all that they’d faced together, with how Lilian had never abandoned him despite having good cause at times, Ricardo knew full well that the other man would not judge him harshly for his current activities. More likely Lilian would offer support and advice, and perhaps speed up Ricardo’s work. But Lilian taking a personal interest in the matter was a very good reason not to bring it to his attention: he was older and still feeling the effects of their encounter with Arioch, and there was no need to lure him back to the field just yet. He could be frustratingly cavalier about his own well-being, particularly when he thought others’ lives were at stake, and Ricardo had been determined not to encourage that even before he’d had Lilian’s blood on his hands.

At any rate, no one’s life was at stake yet. Ricardo was not a vainglorious fool and he was capable of taking a lesson to heart. His last misadventure with Andriy had, if nothing else, shown him the danger of not fully understanding a situation before pursuing it. However, it wasn’t merely a more complete understanding he was currently searching for—if that had been so, he would have gladly sought out Lilian’s opinion on the matter.

False dawn spilled grey light over Ricardo’s room as he walked through the door, shaking his head at himself. He made sure that the door closed softly behind him, then raised one hand. He paused, shook his head again, and did up the lock. Then he slowly worked through the various warding spells he and Lilian had laid on the door. Since Andriy had disappeared, Ricardo’s power had begun to return. Slowly, in erratic fits that made Ricardo even more conscious of simply having such special abilities in the first place, but it was returning.

When he had finished, Ricardo put his hand against the door for a moment. He could feel the magic’s slight pulse against his palm, and if he closed his eyes, he knew he would be able to just see, as if through a thick haze, the patterns of the spell. If it continued to come back at its current rate, in a few months he’d be as he had been before Andriy.

A wry chuckle spilled out of Ricardo before he could help himself. Then he pulled his hand from the door and turned around. It’d been a long walk back and his throat was dry, so he stopped in the kitchen for a glass of water. With that drunk, he headed into the living room.

His suite was small and spare, so small from the middle of the living room he could see virtually the whole of the place. The kitchen to his back and right, with its ancient stove that rattled threateningly when the gas was on, the pristine sheets in his bedroom to his left and just beyond them, the curve of the bathroom sink. In the low, pale light it looked as if it hadn’t known the touch of a person in years.

Ricardo dropped his head and breathed in deeply. Something pulled in his left shoulder, just below the blade. He put back his hand to feel at the spot, then grabbed that shoulder and tugged it into a slow roll as he went up to the windows. He’d left the curtains wide open again. From his room, he could see into a broad courtyard graced with a reflecting pool. The water was black and still and glassy. Vague shapes occasionally moved over its surface—one caught Ricardo’s eye and he bent closer, then twisted his head up to stare at the sky. But it was clear, not even a wisp of a cloud in it. A shadow from somewhere else, then.

He closed the curtains and went to bed. The bells for matins were just beginning to ring.

* * *

“It’s breakfast,” Zinedine said with a faint hint of confusion. He held out a bottle of honey. “I fed some to the foxes. They said it tasted fine.”

“Delicious,” mumbled a voice by Luís’ foot. When he looked down, a rather rotund Ramos awkwardly rolled into the nearest shadow and melted away.

Luís looked up again. He took in the truly impressive spread laid out on his dining table, then opened his mouth. Then he shut his mouth, pulled out the chair nearest to him, and sat down. Someday, when he wasn’t refereeing angel-demon spats or preventing accidental apocalypses, he’d have to talk to Raúl and figure out just why the fox-demons were so well-adjusted to humans and nearly every other demon wasn’t. Well, all right, Zlatan knew his way around too; it was really only the angels who flustered him. “It looks delicious.”

Zinedine looked visibly relieved.

After a moment, Luís pushed his chair out from the table. He waved off Zinedine, who’d started forward, and bent over to scrape at the floor till his fingers ran from wood to fur. Then he grabbed the limb and yanked it up.

Yipping in outrage, the fox tried to bite Luís. Then Silva saw who it was and stiffened up. “I’m sorry! He’s sorry! Guaje didn’t mean to be a jerk—”

“No, not that,” Luís snapped. Then he narrowed his eyes at Silva, who was looking a bit guilty. He started to ask about what, then changed his mind. “Well, whatever it was…fix it. But I actually wanted to make sure somebody’s out front for the morning shift. I’m going to be late.”

“Oh. Oh, okay, sure!” His ears wilting in relief, Silva wriggled free and ran off.

Luís snorted to himself—now he’d have to check who’d tried to reach him lately and had gotten a sneering fox-demon instead—and sat back. His eyes crossed Zinedine’s politely blank expression and he twitched, then sighed. Then he put out his foot and pushed the next chair over out from the table. “You can sit and eat too.”

Zinedine’s eyes flicked from Luís to the chair. He put his hand on it, tilted his head, and then slid into the chair. He didn’t make any move towards the food.

“I’m not mad at you,” Luís said. The smell of the food was truly divine and beginning to get at his stomach, and finally he started helping himself to the bread and cakes. “I’m not entirely sure why you think I’m mad at you, but for future reference, making me breakfast isn’t actually required. It’s just…it’s a nice thing to do. And it makes for popular romcom movies.”

“Raúl said that he learns a lot about humans from watching those,” Zinedine replied. When Luís looked at him, he just gazed back with a complete lack of humor.

He wasn’t as tense now either, Luís noted. “So, nestlings.”

After a moment, Zinedine picked up the plate at his place. He rotated it in his hand about a quarter-turn, then served himself some food. “You didn’t smell as if you were upset with me, but I wanted you to know that I appreciated…appreciated that. Because I want to talk about this. I don’t want to make this into a problem, and now you’re…”

“Don’t tell me what I smell like,” Luís muttered, pushing his plate away. He sat there and looked at it for a moment, framed in his hands. Then he sighed and leaned back in his chair. “All right. You want kids.”

Zinedine’s face underwent a—well, it didn’t really change, but whatever was going on underneath it was rather turbulent. Then he put his elbows up on the table and folded his hands together before his face. His steepled fingers made his nose look even sharper. “Yes.”

“Well, it’s a natural urge.” Luís picked up his fork again and piked up a piece of cake. He popped it into his mouth, chewed and nodded approvingly. “I had this talk with Helen too, but since she’d have to spend the nesting period in her home forest, we agreed it wasn’t a good time for me to relocate.”

“Our nest wouldn’t have to be in the desert,” Zinedine said after a moment. He still had his hands up blocking his face, as if the parts that were visible were showing any sign of movement. “It can be here. But it probably would have to be somewhere where the foxes couldn’t get in. I don’t think they’d do anything on purpose, but foxes and eggs…and aren’t we discussing this now?”

If Luís spat his mouthful out, he’d almost certainly have an ugly spat on his hands next. If he swallowed, he stood a good chance of choking himself trying to force the food through his suddenly tight throat. He rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand, then pressed his fingers against his lips while he cleared his throat. Then he swallowed fast before that could tighten up again.

He looked up and Zinedine was watching him with just the faintest touch of exasperation to his face. “I do know about misdirection,” Zinedine said dryly. “It’s our specialty.”

“Yes, mirages and all that.” Luís cleared his throat again. He sounded a little pinched. “Look, I’m fine with talking about the subject, but this sounds like planning.”

Zinedine held perfectly still for a few moments. Then he blew out a long, irritated breath, his eyes rolling upwards. His hands went palm-down on the table and he stared at Luís through narrowed, flinty eyes, probably the same look he gave potential egg-thieves. “If you don’t want to talk about it, you can tell me.”

“I said I’m fine talking about it. I just—oh, for God’s sake. I’m a human. I’m mortal. Granted, I have a lot of practice handling situations that give supernatural beings problems, but at the end of the day I’m still in an easily-damaged body,” Luís snapped. “You can talk about kids, but you’re the one who’ll be around to talk about them.”

The second expression in a minute settled over Zinedine’s face: blank surprise. He sat up and put out one hand to emphasize some point that never made it out of his mouth. Then he pressed his lips together and frowned. His eyes drifted down, sideways, and finally landed on the honey. He stared at it, then reached out and picked up the bottle. After flipping off the top, he squirted a good clump of it onto his bread.

Luís chewed his lip a few times. “You know, I really don’t know how Alberto deals with Buffon’s non-expression as well as he does. God knows it’s not easy.”

The slightest hint of an upcurve tugged at the corner of Zinedine’s mouth as he methodically spread honey over his bread. He flicked a dangling bead of it off the crust, then stuck his finger in his mouth. The side of his tongue briefly peeked out from between his lip and finger, a soft pink line. Then he took his finger out of his mouth, dropped his hand and looked up to catch Luís thinking about having sex in the kitchen.

They had a quick mutual moment of appreciation for a frank and honest sex life. Then Zinedine blinked and looked confused. “So you’re not upset that I want kids. You’re upset that you’re mortal and it’d be hard for you to help raise them?”

“I’m not upset,” Luís said.

Zinedine managed to look the same emotion as a disbelieving snort. “But that’s the easier bit to take care of. You know that.”

“I _don’t_ know that. What do you mean, take care of it? I’d have to be a demon or—oh. No.”

“Becoming a demon isn’t the only way to deal with it,” Zinedine sighed. “And you do know. You have the books to know, at least. I’ve seen them on your shelves.”

“Just because I have the references doesn’t mean that I’m actively looking into it. And now we aren’t talking about kids, we’re talking about an entire lifestyle change,” Luís said sharply.

All Zinedine needed to do to point out the obvious error in logic there was wait and let Luís think about it. The damn demon didn’t need to also placidly munch away at his cake.

“All right. I’m upset.” And more or less without an appetite now, even though Luís knew his stomach would kill him for giving up on the food about fifteen minutes after this conversation was over. “I—it’s not that I’m against the idea. But there’s a lot that has to happen on my end for it to work, and I’m not going to do it if it doesn’t work, because that would be horribly unfair to the children when they can’t help who’s their parents.”

“I’d help,” Zinedine said.

“That only comes up after I decide if I even want to do it,” Luís said.

Zinedine regarded Luís for a while, eyes slightly narrowed but otherwise not showing any signs of a disturbed mood. Sometimes, Luís admitted to himself, he wanted to get a reaction out of the demon just for getting a reaction. It made Zlatan’s complaints about Paolo’s unflappability a little more understandable.

“I don’t understand.” At least Zinedine had stopped eating. “But I…don’t have to talk about this now. I don’t think you want to. Do you?”

“Honestly? Not really,” Luís muttered.

Of course, then Zinedine decided to look disappointed and the emotion was strangely vulnerable on him. He didn’t even try to push the point; instead he simply nodded and resumed eating, eyes on his food. His shoulders were slightly stooped. Luís was feeling guilt he’d assumed he’d done away with when he’d first discovered that the trip to Hell wasn’t _inevitably_ one-way.

“Thanks for breakfast. It’s…very good,” Luís said after a while.

Zinedine muttered a you’re welcome, and Luís just put back his shoulders and resigned himself to spending an afternoon researching demon reproductive behavior. Something else came to mind, but it flitted away as a kit suddenly bounced onto the table, wanting to play. The smile of open, guileless affection it got from Zinedine made that guilt into a knotty ball of resentment, confusion and remorse, and whatever else Luís had been trying to remember simply disappeared into the morass.

* * *

Ricardo usually had breakfast with Lilian in the cafeteria, with anywhere from a handful to several tables of seminary students keeping them company, depending on how provocative Lilian had been in lecture the day before. Today was no exception, as a group of students quickly descended on them before they’d managed more than a good-morning. The boys began peppering Lilian with questions and it was all he could do to nod apologetically to Ricardo.

With a smile, Ricardo lifted his tray out of the way and made room for the other students. They were due to meet up for dinner that evening and he knew Lilian wouldn’t take it amiss if he simply excused himself now.

He quickly finished eating at another table, then walked over to the chapel. It was largely empty and he easily found a place in the back pews where he could sit in quiet. He did pray for a few minutes, but after that he rested his head on his hands. The top of the pew in front of him dug into his elbows, but he ignored the ache. It was relatively little compared to the deeper ache inside of him.

Eventually other people began to drift into the chapel. Ricardo looked up and was noticed, and nodded a distant acknowledgment. Then he got up and went outside.

For a few minutes he lingered in the doorway, looking out onto the courtyard. In one direction he had a clear view to a busy street, lined with restaurants and high-end shops and already full with noisy traffic. If he turned the other way, he could gaze at the main church and the rest of the seminary, massive stone buildings all faded the same pale grey color. As grateful as he was for the food and lodging, as much as he respected the greater age and sacred meaning here, he found it a dull, lifeless place compared to his homeland. There the sacred didn’t keep itself aloof in the fossils of a past time of glory, but instead spilled out into the street with the secular and shared in the little gains and losses.

But then, he thought as he started down the steps, he’d had his problems with Brazil as well. If he was back there, likely he’d be feeling the same restless dissatisfaction.

Ricardo had to smile at the familiarity of the gentleness in that reproach. Even when he wasn’t speaking to Lilian, the man was with him.

After a stop by his room to collect a few things, Ricardo went out into the town. He ran a couple minor errands for Lilian, ending at a post office near the place where he’d encountered ghouls the night before. There was a line and Ricardo had to wait in it for nearly an hour before he could hand over the package, and by then he was thirsty and needed the use of a toilet. 

He took care of both needs at a café across the street. The whole front of the café had been opened up to the fair spring weather and from Ricardo’s table he could see an open pit in which a couple men were digging while up at the edge, several more people were squatting around bins. It’d originally been dug to repair a pipe, but as was so common here, they’d turned up undocumented graves from an earlier era and now the historians had taken over the site. Last night a ghoul had discovered something still intact enough for eating was down there, and had taken violent offense to Ricardo’s interruption. And Ricardo _had_ asked it nicely. At first.

Ricardo’s shoulders hunched. He lowered his cup from his mouth and began to reach into his pocket.

“This seat taken?” asked a man’s voice.

Ricardo looked up. The demon was about his height, with dark brown hair gelled stylishly back from the forehead. Deeply-tanned skin, very white smile. Clothes that wouldn’t look out of place on a male model from one of Milan’s many fashion shows: artfully ripped jeans, tight slogan t-shirt under a satin bomber jacket so shiny the sunlight reflecting off it counted as a weapon. A young appearance, even a little younger than Ricardo. 

“What do you want?” Ricardo said lowly. He was aware that the café was more than half-full, and there was a team of scientifically-minded people right across the street. He didn’t have serious intellectual conflicts with science—to him, they were usually mutually exclusive spheres of knowledge—but he and Lilian had had enough practical conflicts for him to be wary of introducing them to the supernatural. “I don’t want to hurt you but I can, and I will if you try to hurt anyone here.”

The demon laughed as if Ricardo had made a particularly funny joke. His hand clapped Ricardo’s shoulder, and then he was pushing past Ricardo while Ricardo was still pulling away from the touch. He effortlessly twisted on a foot and sent himself sprawling into the chair across from Ricardo. “Hi, I’m Cristiano. You’re the one who was talking to the ghouls last night, weren’t you?”

Ricardo kept his silence. He put his cup down on the table and pushed his other hand into his pocket till he had hooked a finger around his ring of saints’ medals. Then he pulled that out and made sure the demon saw it before pulling his rosary out from his shirt.

“Relax,” Cristiano said, lazily stretching out his legs. He put his head back on the top of his chair, then rolled it to the side to smile at some passing women. Then he turned it back to give essentially the same smile to Ricardo. “It’s a nice day, and I just got my hair done. I don’t want a big fuss either. You wanna just talk?”

“I would like for us to both leave this place without causing harm,” Ricardo replied after a moment. “If you’re after me, I’ll be happy to meet you somewhere that doesn’t—”

“Here you go, sir.” A waitress came up and handed Cristiano a steaming espresso, then angled her pelvis slightly towards him when she straightened up. “Anything else?”

Cristiano shook his head, but then cocked a brow at Ricardo, who hastily declined. The waitress safely away, Ricardo slowly let out his breath.

“I thought you were the priest who wasn’t really a priest,” Cristiano said mockingly. After sniffing his espresso, he flicked his finger a few times over it and sugar cubes dropped into it from thin air. He gave his cup a few gentle swirls. “You _talk_ to ghouls, after all. I know you know what they are, because you know how to get rid of them. So how come you don’t know it’s stupid to talk to them?”

“It’s not stupid, it’s a principle.” And it sounded considerably better when Lilian was delivering the explanation, but resentment was never an emotion that should be welcomed into Ricardo’s life, and especially so when he was sitting alongside a demon. Ricardo inhaled slowly and deeply, concentrating on moving past his surface emotions. He had to keep his head and consider the situation calmly—and if he was to take to heart the principle he’d just been defending, he needed to consider the possibility that he didn’t have a fight on his hands. “Even if it wasn’t likely they would move on through sheer persuasion, it doesn’t waste much time and effort to try. And a good deal would be saved if persuasion did work.”

Cristiano flicked an incredulous look over the rim of his cup, then drank deeply from it. Then he set his cup down on the table and took to eyeing the passersby again. He frowned, then rolled the shoulder nearest to Ricardo. “I thought you did it because it distracted them long enough for you to get a better angle.”

“The right and honorable thing doesn’t stop being right and honorable merely because other advantages also arise from it,” Ricardo muttered. The sideways glance Cristiano gave him was so—so oddly close to Ricardo’s own feelings that Ricardo snorted without thinking. Then he grimaced and pulled himself a little straighter in his seat. “I was quoting.”

“I hope so. Because you’re way too young to sound that stuffy,” Cristiano said. His gaze wandered back towards a pretty young woman, then snapped to Ricardo so abruptly that Ricardo froze. Then Cristiano smiled again, twisting around so he could rest both elbows on the table. His smile was disarmingly boyish, far too young for the keen glint in his eyes. “You know, if you want to find a Fallen One, it’s also really stupid to do it by just hanging around the bad parts of town. Is a good way to get taken, though.”

Pinpricks of pain in his fingertips made Ricardo realize he was clenching a fist around his saints’ medals. He loosened his grip, then looked back up at Cristiano, cursing his lapse of attention. The demon hadn’t moved, that smile still on his face, but it’d be the height of naïveté to think that that meant Cristiano hadn’t done anything. And whatever Lilian said, whatever the official Church records said, Ricardo hadn’t been a novice for a long time.

“Hey, if I wanted you that way, I’d already have you. But I don’t.” Cristiano’s smile widened a little, then broke across the middle as he laughed. In the dark space between the two white lines of teeth, his tongue twisted far too agilely. Then he turned away. He flipped out a pair of sunglasses and put them on, then sank back in his chair, idly twisting the diamond stud in his ear. “Well, I want to talk to you more than I want to do something else with you, anyway. So you’re looking for this Andriy, aren’t you?”

“Why would that interest you?” Ricardo asked after a moment, when he thought he could be careful enough.

Another shrug, and then Cristiano put out a languid hand for his mug. He swung it up to his mouth and tipped the coffee into his pursed mouth little by little. With the sunglasses on, it was surprisingly hard to judge his expression; Ricardo was not used to a demon exhibiting any sort of voluntary restraint.

“I think it’s weird,” Cristiano said, putting down his empty mug. He turned his head towards Ricardo, then lifted his sunglasses enough for Ricardo to see his eyes. The irises had turned red, although it strangely didn’t make him angry. The impression Ricardo got was more of a peaking interest—just as disquieting as rage. “And I think you’re _going_ to get taken if you keep up the way you’ve been going. You’re not that good.” He let the sunglasses drop back onto his nose. “ _And_ I think I know a better way to look for him.”

“That may be—I am not like you and don’t know what you know, but I have enough knowledge and experience to determine how I want to approach a matter. And I do not think your approach would agree with me. Right this moment it certainly doesn’t,” Ricardo replied stiffly. He glanced at his medals, then separated out one from the ring and pinched it between forefinger and thumb. “I don’t care for this conversation, or for you.”

Cristiano’s brows rose well above the top of his sunglasses. “What? I’ve been nice to you so far, haven’t I? I could’ve done this a different way.”

“And I’m sure I wouldn’t have enjoyed that any more, but I think you’ve too high an opinion of your abilities. I would and I do have a say in how this goes.” Then Ricardo nodded towards a small church just down the street. “This is also not the most favorable place for you.”

“You’re a hard one.” For a moment Cristiano seemed serious. But just as Ricardo was tensing for a possible attack, the demon laughed again. He shook his head and Ricardo nearly let off a spell just at that movement; while Ricardo was calming himself, Cristiano pushed back from the table and stood up. He paused to grin at Ricardo again. “Okay, we’ll do this some other time when you’re feeling better. Maybe you’ll like me then.”

Ricardo opened his mouth to retort that he would not, but barely caught himself. Instead he watched in silence as Cristiano made his way out of the café, slipping casually in between tables and other patrons. The demon stopped again on the sidewalk, but only to…answer his phone? With that still glued to his ear, he sauntered off down the crowded street. The top of his head finally disappeared and Ricardo let out a long breath.

It was several minutes before Ricardo could even begin to collect his thoughts, and then the waitress came by to alert him to the fact that Cristiano hadn’t paid for his coffee. So Ricardo paid for it. He felt a little guilty for how curt he was to the waitress, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel the same for his uncharitable thoughts towards Cristiano. The demon had fairly earned them.

And, Ricardo realized upon noting the time, Cristiano had also made him late. Doubly discomfited, Ricardo hurried to the nearest metro station.

* * *

“Oh, no, I don’t mind at all,” Henrik said, serving himself some cake. “It’s nice to have a break from inventorying. Much as I love my job, even I can only take so many papercuts. And I think it’d been a while since I came up here for a reason besides Zlatan. This isn’t about Zlatan, yes?”

Luís blinked, then shook himself out of his thoughts. “No, it’s not. It’s—so what’s the demon position on spawning?”

After a moment, Henrik put down the serving spoon. He stood there with his plate of cake in hand and gazed bemusedly at Luís. “Er, well…it depends on the type of demon, but for my kind, you usually squat in a pool of lava and…and I take it that that’s not what you meant.”

“No. Decidedly not,” Luís blurted out. Then he grimaced and turned away to distract himself with restacking some books. He took a few deep breaths, looked up to find Henrik still calmly watching him, and opened his mouth. Then he held up his hand.

Once he’d made sure no fox-demons were in the immediate vicinity, he gave Henrik a brief summary of the last two conversations he’d had with Zinedine. Then he took a seat in the nearest chair and massaged his temples a little. Breakfast had been…strained, and he hadn’t seen Zinedine since, although he didn’t think he needed to be booking himself a ticket to the desert yet. Zinedine wouldn’t go off without telling at least the kits.

Luís looked up at Henrik. “All right, so…”

Henrik swallowed his mouthful. He looked back, then thoughtfully began to poke at his cake. “So he still doesn’t understand why you’re upset?”

“I—” Luís made himself exhale “—last I checked, no.”

“You should explain it to him,” was Henrik’s helpful assessment.

“Well, I can’t do that if I’m not that clear on it myself,” Luís snapped. Then he grimaced and turned away. He saw a shadow flicker around the corner of the open door, sighed again and waved his hand.

The door shut, stirring up a little breeze that briefly flapped Henrik’s suit. Henrik himself remained planted and calm and attentive, which was why Luís liked him for these sorts of discussions. That and the fact that he wasn’t fazed by a little accidental magic now and then. Not that Luís was considering such a perverse idea, even if he was frustrated and not used to being frustrated by _himself_ and just a bit irked at Henrik’s composure.

“He said he didn’t mind talking about it later, didn’t he? Why don’t you just leave it at that?” Then Henrik frowned, but it turned out he was only looking for a chair. He pulled it over with his foot, then took a seat and ate more cake. “He doesn’t seem like he’s in a hurry and this is delicious. I didn’t know you baked.”

“I don’t.” Eventually Luís restrained himself to a weak kick at his desk. He slumped in his chair. “Zinedine made it.”

Henrik was silent for a moment. “Zinedine bakes? That’s…”

“What, do demons not bake?” Luís muttered. “Though that explains a lot about Zlatan and Sandro…”

“Demons bake. Some of them even manage to do it without turning out something that resembles a wart on Hell’s face,” Henrik said. He sounded like his mouth was a bit full, and when Luís turned to look at him, the demon did guiltily gulp down something. Then he straightened his shoulders and pointed his fork at Luís. “Thankfully, I happen to know baking isn’t a part of his kind’s mating rituals, so I won’t have to hurt you for having me eat your food.”

Luís twitched.

“He did say he wasn’t actually trying to mate right now. Didn’t he? That’s what I heard you tell me.” Henrik’s eyes were limpid pools of innocent curiosity, like all he wanted to do with the answer was help out Luís. “You know, if you can’t have this talk with him, which is what you should be doing, I’m not really sure why you think you can have it with me.”

“Because you’re a third party and you’re a demon, so you can help me understand why on earth I have to explain this to him in the first place? His tribe’s obviously got a strong family structure, so don’t tell me this has never come up before,” Luís said, exasperated. A little with Zinedine, but mostly with himself. He knew it shouldn’t actually matter why Zinedine needed it explained to him; first came the explanation and then came the post-incident analysis, and that was how everybody got out alive. “I didn’t have to even open my mouth for the foxes to get it.”

A clinking noise roused Luís from his—well, it was a rant now, whatever he’d intended it to be. He looked over and Henrik raised his brows, then dropped that second slice onto his plate. The demon brought it back over and plopped it onto the desk before steepling his hands over it. “What about Helen?”

A lot of penetrating gazes had been directed at Luís by a lot of different…entities, many of them terrifying enough to give even Luís disturbing dreams afterward. But somehow none of them were anywhere near as effective as Henrik’s mildly inquisitive look. It was something about how he just seemed so damn certain Luís was going to answer. “When I talked to her about it, we both agreed that it was just impractical. She didn’t start coming up with suggestions about how I could change this and that, and revamp my entire life, and—I really, honestly am not _against_ the idea. I do like the idea of having children of my own at some point. But a human and a demon don’t just _do_ that.”

“And you aren’t interested at all into changing the human part?” Then Henrik held up a hand. “I’m just checking.”

“I can’t say,” Luís admitted after he’d gotten over his initial irritation. He quirked the side of his mouth, then sucked part of his lower lip under so he could chew at it. Then he let his lip go; it hadn’t caused this, after all. “I haven’t exactly thought about it that much. I…usually the whole _point_ is that I’m the only damn person and for some reason that means I’m the one with commonsense, and now what?”

The wards were tingling. Just as Henrik looked towards the door, somebody knocked on it. Luís got up, half-relieved and half-irritated, and saw a shadow slide out from under the door. It bulged up, shook fur onto itself, and Mata blinked at both at them. The fox-demon seemed a little thrown to find Henrik with Luís, but recovered to nod at Luís. “The priest is here and he’s asking for you.”

“Oh…I’m sorry, Henke, but excuse me, I have to see to this or Kaká will be a complete…and it’s not Kaká.” After another moment, Luís opened the door the rest of the way so Henrik could take in Thuram. “Lilian. What can I do for you?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you already had company,” Thuram said. He tipped his head politely at Henrik, then looked back at Luís. “Kaká? Has he been here?”

Ah, that had been what Luís had been forgetting this morning. Well, Thuram looked to be taking care of it and Kaká hadn’t asked Luís to keep any secrets, even if his conduct had screamed sneaking around. And even if he had, Luís wasn’t inclined to do so when one, they weren’t exactly close enough for confidences and two, the last time Kaká had failed to speak up, they’d had a Fallen One drop into town. “He was here last night. He’d killed some ghouls, and wanted to let me know in case I was going to take a train.”

“A…train. I see.” Thuram clearly didn’t understand how that related to ghouls, but from his tone, it seemed like he did understand how the ghouls related to Kaká showing up. In detailed nuance. For a moment a hint of frustration showed in his eyes, but then it vanished as he smiled apologetically at Luís. “I was here to ask you a related question, actually. But as Kaká showed up for breakfast this morning, I don’t think it’s important enough to interrupt your other—”

“I don’t know when I’ll be done with this so you might as well ask now,” Luís sighed, glancing at Henrik. The demon gestured that he didn’t have a problem and Luís stepped back to let Thuram into the room. “At the very least, if I don’t have an easy answer, I can start thinking about it earlier. What’s your protégé doing?”

With a murmured thanks, Thuram crossed the threshold and then stopped. He appeared to be fine standing by the door, but Luís offered the man his own chair anyway; Thuram declined. Then he looked at Henrik. He paused, then took a step forward and extended his hand. “Father Lilian Thuram. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Henrik,” Henrik said. He smiled with his lips together as they shook hands. “I’m the Head Librarian of Hell.”

Thuram’s brows arched, and then an interested glint came into his eye. He started to ask Henrik something before remembering he’d actually come for something else. “Ah, so, Luís…”

“Do you want to go back into the hall?” Luís asked.

After a moment, Thuram shook his head. “I trust that anyone who you’d allow into your home is capable of discretion,” he said in a measured tone, with a look towards Henrik. “At any rate, the Head Librarian of Hell might have some insight into the matter, if I could humbly request it.”

Henrik shrugged. “Well, I’m here.”

“I was wondering how difficult it would be to find a Fallen One who didn’t want to be found,” Thuram asked.

The first thought that came into Luís’ head was that he should’ve guessed, what with the track record of bizarre boundary-crossing pairings in this town. The second thought he had was that Kaká must have done something very nice for Thuram at some point, in order to merit this kind of care and consideration despite his truly idiotic decision-making. “He’s asking ghouls how to find Andriy?”

“I don’t think _ghouls_ , necessarily, but I do believe he’s looking. I’ve seen some signs of it, though I haven’t asked him directly on the point yet.” Thuram spread his hands a little. “I do not believe he has any ill intention, and he seems to want to keep it a private matter. I’d like to respect his wishes on that and let him talk to me when he wishes to, since it is quite personal to him, but on the other hand…”

“It’d be hard to respect his privacy if he gets himself eaten,” Henrik said dryly. He held his sober expression in the face of Lilian’s sharpened look for a moment, then chuckled. “Ah. Well, I don’t know this Kaká and I don’t know the situation, but there are ways to go about looking for—it’s Andriy, is it—without getting eaten. If you know what you’re doing.”

Luís refrained from providing his opinion on that, but Henrik smirked a bit upon seeing his expression. Then the demon rearranged his face into a more concerned expression and looked back at Thuram.

“Kaká is quite experienced in supernatural matters and not as inclined towards rash behavior as might be expected from his age. I believe that in most situations he is well able to look after himself,” Thuram answered. He paused, then tilted his head. “He is, however, a little more hot-headed if he thinks that there is a threat of some kind.”

“Then you might want to ask what he’s doing. I don’t think I or Luís can give any more advice without knowing that.” Henrik glanced at Luís for a confirmation, which Luís gave. “Either that or find Andriy first, and talk to him.”

Thuram’s pose became slightly more alert. “Do you know where he is?”

After a moment’s thought, Henrik shook his head. Apparently he’d also caught Luís’ reaction out of the corner of his eye, because he shot Luís a withering look. “No. I know he’s still around, but that’s all. I suppose I could find him if I wanted to, but I doubt he’d be happy about it. And if neither of you know where he is, I would take that as a strong sign that he doesn’t want anyone to know. Fallen Ones aren’t generally shy.”

“Ah. Thank you very much for the information. It’d been very helpful,” Thuram said with genuine, if grave, gratitude. He paused, shifted back and made a slight bow towards both of them. “Now, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time…”

“If you’ve got any more questions on Fallen Ones, you should come around later,” Luís said. “Ever since Andriy showed up, I’ve been doing some research into the matter and I’d be happy to share.”

Thuram smiled and thanked Luís again, promising that he would stop by. Then he declined Luís’ belated offer of cake, insisting that he had a class to go teach. In all honesty, Luís didn’t try to keep him. Not very much. Not enough to merit the considering look Henrik gave him when Luís returned from seeing the man out.

“So you like being the token human being?” Henrik asked pleasantly.

The door-knob slipped out of Luís’ hand so the door shut rather harder than Luís had intended. He winced, then rolled back his shoulders and glowered at Henrik. “Just because Zlatan is gone doesn’t mean you need to replace his tactlessness.”

“I brought him up. Who do you think purposefully didn’t stomp all of that out of him?” Henrik leaned back in his chair, smirking. He forked up cake and inserted into his smirk without disturbing its curves one bit. “Oh, it made me want to mash him into brimstone a lot when he was younger, but it’s worth it every time he tells off one of those miserly elders who keep trying to cut my resource allocations. Even in Hell, nobody appreciates the value of a good library.”

A laugh unexpectedly stole out of Luís; sometimes he forgot that Henrik was, in fact, a demon and did enjoy being nasty. He stepped back so he could rest his shoulders against the door. “See, I understand that joke so well because I’m a person.”

The smirk slowly flattened off Henrik’s face, till he was gazing up at Luís as somberly as an undertaker. “Luís. Changing into a demon doesn’t necessarily change your personality.”

“Oh, doesn’t it?” Luís asked, his voice rising. “Even if I approve of it, I noticed a _distinct_ difference between the Zlatan who went down to Hell and the one who came back up. I liked him before, but even I couldn’t say that he cared much about how what he did affected others. And just try and tell me that any of the angels were the same before they fell.”

Wisely, Henrik didn’t bother. He just sighed and closed his eyes, and began to massage his left temple. “People change as well, Luís. I saw you when you were a boy and you’re a damn sight different now. It’s called growing up, and it happens to mortals or immortals.”

“Except when you’re immortal, it goes on for longer and it’s hard to help that short of putting yourself into a coma. I happen to like how I am right now. I don’t think that that’ll change much in one lifetime, but after that?” Luís snorted. “I’m not exactly blind to the facts of life, for mortals or for immortals. You have angels and demons figuring out after eons that they just can’t stand themselves anymore, and then you’ve the poor people dealing with the fall-out. I’ve been one of those people enough times that I’m not thrilled about the idea that I’d turn around and—”

“Luís, your mortal history has plenty of examples of people who are fine with an apocalypse if that means things will stay the way they want it to. Fatal nostalgia is a universal failing.” Henrik stood up. He was still a good distance away, but he stared at Luís in a way that made it feel as if he was nose-to-nose with Luís. Then he turned away, shaking his head; Luís flinched before inwardly cursing himself for falling for that one. “Look, if you want to stay mortal, I understand that. I suspect Zinedine would as well if you actually told him that that was it. He doesn’t know humans well but he’s seen how hard immortality can be for some. But at the end of the day, it is what you want. It’s not what’s good or bad for the entire world, it’s what’s good or bad for you. And then the world follows from that. You know that.”

For a few more moments, Henrik stood there by the desk. His back was to Luís so Luís couldn’t see what the demon was doing, and anyway Luís was somewhat preoccupied. When Henrik did turn around, still brushing the crumbs from his mouth, Luís almost couldn’t remember why cake was involved.

“Please thank Zinedine for the wonderful cake,” Henrik said, once again mild and friendly. He came towards Luís, stopped to clap Luís on the shoulder, and then twisted around Luís.

Slow to respond, Luís got the door only in time to see Henrik drop through a fiery hole in the floor. The flames were hot and bright enough to make him throw up an arm to protect himself. He stumbled and grabbed the door for balance, then lowered his arm as the heat dissipated. The floor of his shop was intact, without even a scorch-mark on it.

Luís leaned against the doorway, looking at the floor. He ran one hand through his hair, then sighed. Then he looked down at his foot.

“Er.” Mata looked a little singed. “So…I guess that didn’t go well? Not that it’s really any of my business, and I’m just here to say that I forgot to tell you that Zinedine said he’d be back for dinner. Sorry.”

“Dinner?” Usually Zinedine just came and went. He didn’t make a point of telling Luís his schedule.

Then again, he’d never cooked for Luís before this morning either.

Mata nodded. “Yeah. He said he had to go on a trip but it wasn’t a big deal, he’d be back. I…kinda think he wanted to make sure you’d be in when he came back. You know. Maybe. He’s kinda hard to read. His face doesn’t move much, does it?”

“No,” Luís muttered. He shook his head, then succumbed to the grin and bent over. After scooping a surprised Mata up, he skritched the fox-demon’s head. “Well, all right, I’ll be around. I don’t know if it’ll go better than breakfast, but I face down demonlords and archangels and Zlatan’s inability to walk past David Villa without trying to squish him. I can—”

“Figo? That kinda hurts.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Luís rubbed Mata’s head with his thumb as a further apology, and headed for the kitchen to see about dinner. At least he could make the food this time.

* * *

Ricardo returned to the seminary an hour before dinner. Despite the unpleasant encounter at the café, he’d still finished his list of errands for the day and had nothing to do, so he stopped by Lilian’s room. But the other man wasn’t in, surprisingly enough: his last class should have ended a half-hour ago and he usually retired to his room to review his notes before heading out for a meal. He and Ricardo hadn’t explicitly discussed the point, but Ricardo had assumed that Lilian wanted them to meet in his chambers, since they weren’t planning to eat in the cafeteria.

Still, there was no reason to be concerned yet. Lilian might have stayed behind to speak with some of his students, or have been delayed by any number of mundane things. As Ricardo well knew, no bizarre or dangerous supernatural events had taken place lately, so Lilian would have nothing to distract him into a—Ricardo caught himself against the wall, a blasphemous oath barely kept within his lips. He shook his head, then ran one hand through his hair as he took in Lilian’s slightly sheepish expression.

“My apologies. You seemed deep in thought and I did not want to disturb you,” the other man said. He’d come up behind Ricardo, unseen until he had tried to reach around to unlock his door.

“No, I was only waiting for you.” Ricardo stepped out of Lilian’s way, then automatically took away the heavy books wedged under Lilian’s arm. These days he barely heard Lilian’s protests.

Lilian smiled as he turned the knob. “Then I’m sorry a second time. I was detained by a cardinal who’d come to sit in on my class.”

“Detained?” Ricardo asked, frowning.

“Oh, no, there’s no cause for alarm. On the contrary, we had a very fruitful discussion about the place of the priesthood in modern-day politics. I’ll just be a moment—I need to drop…oh, yes, I’ll need those back.” One foot in the room, Lilian twisted back to hold out his hands.

Ricardo put the books into them, then grabbed the topmost one before Lilian could withdraw. He twisted the spine towards him so he could read the title, then raised his head to look at Lilian. “Angelology? Lilian, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, Kaká. Nothing except the fact that I have a surprising amount of reading time now and I thought it would be pleasant to brush up on a few topics.” Lilian took the book back, then went into the room. But while he set aside his other books on a table, he kept that one.

“But that book hardly looks like an authority,” Ricardo protested, following the other man. He pursed his lips a few times, but in the end he couldn’t restrain himself. “It looks like something from a—”

“I did in fact buy it from a shop that also sells such respected volumes as ‘How to Communicate with Your Inner Unicorn,’” Lilian admitted placidly. He turned the book in his hand, giving Ricardo another look at the garish pastel illustration on the cover, then laughed and put it down on the table. Then he turned back towards Ricardo, eyes dancing with amusement. “No, it’s not likely to be useful in fieldwork, but it can be quite educative to understand the popular perception of supernatural phenomena, Kaká.”

After a moment, Ricardo nodded. He looked studiously away from the book, but raised his head sharply at Lilian’s laugh. Then he sighed and rolled his shoulders to rid himself of that prickle of irritation. Lilian did have a point, he supposed, and anyway, Ricardo should be relieved that it was only that and not something…not anything to do with Andriy.

“Ever since we found out about Fallen Ones, I’ve wondered if they’re as rare an event as most make out,” Lilian continued. He had put the book down but was still looking at it, and so he missed Ricardo’s jerk. He tapped the cartoonish angel on the cover before turning about—away from Ricardo, though Ricardo had nearly caught his breath before realizing that. “There are some common folktale themes that make you wonder…and then, it doesn’t actually seem that difficult to do. The actual process of falling, of course—I wouldn’t dare to say that I could comprehend the emotional cost of making the initial choice.”

Ricardo swallowed hard. He wanted to speak and yet he wanted badly to tell Lilian to shut up. It wasn’t that Lilian wouldn’t understand, but that Ricardo didn’t even want the man to understand, or to know. It was—he was being selfish, but it was _his_ problem. His mystery, and it’d been that way since the moment in Brazil when Andriy had changed his mind and left Ricardo alive.

Lilian leaned his hip against the table, then resettled himself as his first try had bunched up the heavy fabric of his suit-jacket against him. He absently smoothed down the ripples, then crossed his arms. “Perhaps it’s not even proper for me to speak about their choices, but from what Figo and Paolo tell me, the reasons for them are…well, I understand them perfectly. I don’t know if that’s presumptuous of me or not.”

“You’ve talked to…what did they say to you?” Ricardo finally asked. Then he looked down, a flush unaccountably starting up in his cheeks. He pressed the heel of one hand into one cheek, then dragged it across so he could sweep his fingers into his hair. He remembered he was trying not to attract Lilian’s suspicions and yanked his hand out and his head up.

But Lilian still had his back to him. For a moment Ricardo thought the other man might not have heard, and then Lilian stepped away from the table. Ricardo stiffened, but Lilian only went over to his desk, where he fussed in his pockets for a few seconds before producing a crumpled bit of paper. The other man smoothed that out, read the note on it and then wrote something down on his calendar. “Do you remember that comment Gianluigi made, about the difference between himself and Andriy?” He didn’t look up to see if Ricardo would answer. “It made me curious about why an angel would choose such a fate…I know the standard explanation, but that didn’t seem consistent with Gianluigi’s claim that he’d chosen to love beyond God. So I asked, and Figo and Paolo were kind enough to provide me—”

“Figo’s never been an angel. Has he?” Ricardo blurted out.

Lilian looked up with a bemused expression. Then he laughed, shaking his head. He flipped over the next page of his calendar. “Oh, no. But he’s likely the man who knows most about such things—he’s certainly seen the most, so I thought his opinion would be interesting.”

As a reply Ricardo muttered something inoffensive in lieu of sighing over Lilian’s penchant for seeing the worthiness in everyone. Granted, Figo had been of invaluable help with Andriy and the aftermath, and seemed to be a good man despite his choice of…of company. But most of the time he was too flippant for Ricardo’s tastes.

“…know very well what the consequences of their choice will be, but they think the price is worth paying,” Lilian was saying. He stepped away from the desk and turned towards Ricardo, then stopped with a surprised expression on his face. “Yes?”

“Oh. Oh, no, I just…” Ricardo hadn’t been paying attention, incredibly enough, and he wasn’t certain whether he should feel embarrassed more for the slight to Lilian or for his own stupidity. He rubbed at the side of his face, avoiding Lilian’s eyes. “I don’t know if they know. How can they? If all they’ve ever known—they give that up, and they can’t know what they’ll have afterward, until they’ve made their choice. And that’s when they can feel regret, too.”

Lilian regarded Ricardo silently for a moment, as grave and still as one of the many brooding statues that peppered the older buildings. Then he bent his head. He took off his glasses and began to clean one lens with the cuff of his sleeve. As he did, he lifted his head again so he was looking at Ricardo without the cool blue glass in the way. There was compassion in that look, and also knowledge.

Ricardo thought of putting off the other man one more time, then almost smiled as he realized how useless and faithless that that would be. So he drew a breath that felt like a knife in his throat, and opened his mouth.

But Lilian, for all his seeming gentleness, could command attention with only a tilt of his head when he wanted. He did now. “I wouldn’t assume without asking whether another person feels or doesn’t feel regret, so I won’t do that with any other being either. I think like a choice, regret is something very personal. It’s not for anyone else to decide.”

He gave Ricardo a few seconds, but Ricardo only dropped his eyes to the floor, embarrassed again. A soft chuckle made Ricardo hunch his shoulders, but he didn’t look up till he heard movement near him. Lilian touched Ricardo’s shoulder, then went to the door. “Now, I hope you’ve not suffered too much.”

“I—”

“But there’s nothing left to keep us from dinner, so that should come to an end very shortly,” Lilian said, smiling. A hint of concern shadowed his eyes, and he raised his hand a little to point at Ricardo’s face. “You’ve looked a little gaunt lately, at least to me. You haven’t just been relying on our weekly meetings, have you? It’s not only the soul that needs feeding, Kaká.”

“I know, and there’s no problem with my appetite. You’re already a father, you hardly need to play the mother too,” Ricardo said a little shortly. He wasn’t thinking; his irritation was mere reflex and habit. A moment late, he caught himself, but Lilian was already in the hall and chuckling at him.

The other man waved him along and Ricardo came, still wary. Unsure that that was it, that their talk had been so—that Lilian had essentially let him off. But the other man hadn’t, not in the most important sense. And he’d done Ricardo a great good there, and even with the adrenaline still subsiding in Ricardo’s veins, he was already feeling calmed and thankful. Ashamed, too. He should have said something himself instead of waiting for Lilian.

“I know very well that you’re a grown man, and you find your own way. It’s a task in which I heartily support you,” Lilian said. When Ricardo looked over, the other man was striding easily down the hall, not a flicker of disquiet in his face. “But humor an eccentric elder who can’t help worrying.”

Ricardo’s breath came a little tight, one last time. Then he let it out simply, as it should go, and smiled at the other man. “You’re not an elder yet, even if you make me wish you’d pull rank more often instead of risking yourself all the time.”

“But you know I do very poorly at staying back, so it’s just as well that I go.” Lilian’s laughter rang down the hall, clearing the way for them.

* * *

The sudden yipping alerted Luís. He started to turn, then cursed as his hand slipped on the forgotten knife. Instinct made him drop the handle and the knife clattered loudly but harmlessly to the counter. Luís made of that before he backed away, rubbing his mercifully uncut palm against his hip.

He went to the doorway and looked out into the living room, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Then he heard a thump and a huge wing flapped up behind the couch. It stayed in the air a moment, primary feathers fluttering slightly, then vanished as the din of happy kits began to peter out. They might be unbearably cute at times, but they were better than any warding spell for stopping Zinedine in his tracks.

When Luís heard Zinedine’s voice filter up through the barking, he headed back to the kitchen. His chopped herbs and bowlful of half-made tincture called reproachfully to him; he reached towards the knife, then sighed and started to clean up. He wasn’t at a critical point and he could afford to put the rest off till tomorrow. It wouldn’t be as strong as usual, but he could just distill it some other day.

At some point Zinedine came into the kitchen, but he didn’t come into view and didn’t make any noises to let Luís know he was there. Luís simply turned around to put some jars away and Zinedine was standing in the doorway.

Zinedine grimaced. “I forgot to cough.”

“Well, no harm done,” Luís muttered, resettling the jars in his arms. He got those on the shelves without further delay, then dug up a rag for wiping down the counter. He glanced Zinedine’s way again, then paused. “You’ve got something in your collar.”

The hawk-demon blinked, then flushed oddly as he picked at the bit of green sticking out onto his left shoulder. He uncharacteristically fumbled it and it dropped to the floor, letting Luís identify it as a sprig of some evergreen, which certainly didn’t grow locally. Nor did Luís think it would’ve been native to Zinedine’s home.

“I went up north,” Zinedine abruptly said. He was staring at the sprig. “I thought it might be a good idea to talk to your wife.”

“Oh.” Luís…had not seen that one coming. “Isn’t she in the mountains right now?”

Zinedine pulled at his nose and moved his shoulders back and forth. “She says hello, and that she appreciated the last package you sent. Also, she wants to know if you booked dinner with the angels yet.”

Damn it, Luís hadn’t, and this would be the second time she’d come down when he’d forgotten. He really needed to—he shook his head, then kicked the sprig out of the way and walked to where he could look Zinedine in the eye. “Why on earth would you fly all the way there to see Helen? Not that I’m angry or possessive, because God knows she can screen her own visitors, but…why?”

The pupils of Zinedine’s eyes widened sharply. He lifted his head and actually looked Luís in the face, then turned away. His hand went up to hook about his neck, absently rubbing there, and a few more twigs pattered down his shirt. He didn’t seem to notice. “I…you said you’d talked to her about offspring, and since she’s your wife, it occurred to me that she would have a say…and possibly a prior arrangement…and…know what you wanted about that…”

“Oh,” Luís said again.

Zinedine muttered something to himself and glanced at the fridge as if it was the reason why he looked like his neck was killing him. He pulled at his shirt-collar a few times. A scuffling sound down and to the left made them both start, but that just turned out to be a curious fox-demon, who promptly turned tail. Luís barely suppressed a sigh; whatever his expression had been, it couldn’t have been that bad. These were demons who greeted hellhounds by sticking out their tongues.

“She said,” Zinedine started, and stopped. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. The skin around them was a little dark and baggy, betraying his fatigue.

Somewhere in Hell, Henrik was laughing at them. Luís swallowed hard and told himself to be the goddamn human being, if nothing else. “She probably said she thought the topic made me nervous, so she put it off to a time when she didn’t have to migrate twice a year and could properly harass me about it.”

That was exactly it, said Zinedine’s carefully blank expression.

“I’m…it was unfair of me to get upset over it, but I really haven’t thought much about it,” Luís said. “And I don’t know that I’m comfortable with the idea of changing what I am.”

“You don’t have to be a demon. You don’t have to be anything else.” Zinedine paused, his lips pressed together. One of his shoulders twitched and Luís could almost see the feathers anxiously shaking behind it. “If there’s… _if_ there’s to be offspring, I want you as their parent. I don’t want them just for me. And I do understand why you wouldn’t want to change.”

Luís grinned, then hastily wiped that off his face when he saw Zinedine stiffening up. He finally let out his sigh and moved a little closer, so he could put his hand on Zinedine’s shoulder. It shivered under his palm, then was still and hard as iron. He clasped it anyway. “Look, Zinedine. The thing about being human is that you’re born to think in terms of…oh, I think it’s seventy or so years these days. That’s barely long enough to grow up, let alone change modes of existence. I think I’ve just got a handle on being a person, and suddenly I’m thinking of being a demon? Or some type of immortal, anyway. It’s a little—”

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” Zinedine muttered, his gaze meeting Luís’ eyes only slantwise. He pulled at his nose again, keeping his arm close to himself so it didn’t bump Luís. His lashes fluttered down and his brows drew together, as if a spasm of pain had gone through his head. “You haven’t even come home to meet my family.” Then he looked at Luís straight on. “Did I make you—”

“Honestly? For about a second there.” That was the convenient part of getting dragged into Zlatan’s drama, Luís thought. Zlatan’s family was basically Henrik, who could be pacified with cake and some rare first editions and who loved the idea of angel in-laws. But then Luís shook his head and told himself to stop getting distracted. He’d walked into this with eyes wide open and he should take what he got.

Zinedine peered into Luís’ face with the kind of concentration he probably would normally use to scan great tracts of sand for potential dangers. The angular planes of his face always carried a spare beauty about them, but in the cool nature of a wilderness without a touch of man. But now, staring at Luís, that beauty colored by almost palpable concern, Zinedine was surprisingly…warm. He looked like someone needed to literally hug him.

He blinked and frowned. “What’s sexually attractive about this?”

“Oh, well—” Luís fumbled, embarrassed by lust for the first time in about twenty years “—humans have odd triggers sometimes. I—look, just let me get through a human life first, all right? Then we can talk about branching out.”

“All right,” Zinedine said after a moment, tone faint and rather like an automaton. Then his frown deepened. “So…so you would consider…just later?”

Luís pressed his lips together, then nodded. “I need time to think about it. And do research. And get you and Helen in the same room to talk about it, because she does have a say. And also figure out what part of right now I’m attached to, because I do like my current life and I think I’m doing a reasonably decent job at it.”

“Oh.” Zinedine sank back a good bit in his relief. “All right. I can wait.”

Something about that movement made Luís’ arms move and he looked down, only to realize that at some point he’d taken hold of Zinedine’s other arm. He stared at his hands for a few seconds, then grimaced and looked guiltily up. But Zinedine didn’t seem in any hurry to free himself; on the contrary, he was looking at Luís’ grip on him with a sort of distant bemusement. Then he noticed Luís and lifted his head expectantly—oh, he thought this was some human quirk again and wanted an explanation.

“Well, I’m glad that that’s—” Luís started.

Zinedine hadn’t been listening. Just as Luís had opened his mouth, the demon’s brow had wrinkled as if he’d remembered something. Then he pushed forward and kissed Luís’ still-moving mouth. His lip slipped over Luís’ lip and Luís felt his teeth start to sink into it, and promptly stopped talking. But Zinedine didn’t stop kissing. Actually, he got his hands up and put them on Luís’ shoulders so all his weight could come down there.

Luís wasn’t braced to take it and stumbled backwards, then had to keep stumbling till he got his back up against the counter. He dropped his right hand to that to support himself. Or at least that was what he’d meant to do, but right then Zinedine rippled his fingers straight down Luís’ groin and Luís ended up smashing his fist into the counter. He hissed and jerked his head, inadvertently freeing his mouth. Zinedine’s hot mouth plucked at his throat as Luís gazed blindly over the demon’s head, wondering why the kitchen was wavering.

Cool air in odd places alerted Luís to the fact that his jeans had dropped. He looked down, then grabbed at Zinedine’s shoulders as smooth, long fingers did away with his underwear as well. Only Zinedine’s shoulders were moving targets and by the time Luís finally got hold of one, they were already at mid-stomach. Luís had to settle for scrabbling with his other hand at the top of Zinedine’s head, just as a tongue snaked two circles around Luís’ prick. And it started twisting and squeezing even before it’d finished that, and then Zinedine put the rest of his mouth there and Luís didn’t know if this was a romcom movie or Helen or those damn fox-demons, and he really didn’t care. God, he loved demons.

He never had a good grip on Zinedine’s head, so when his climax came he damn near fell over the top of the demon. His hand slipped off but caught in the collar of Zinedine’s shirt—he heard buttons popping—and Zinedine helpfully shoved him back by the knees. Then yanked him off as Luís stifled a curse. Luís’ tongue went from volcanic heat to shockingly chilly as Zinedine tilted back his head to look at him. This time Luís just let the curse come out.

“Your back?” Zinedine said.

“What?” Then Luís tried to resettle himself against the counter edge and his body informed him Zinedine had a point. “Damn it, _that_. Damn it.” He remembered the curse and muttered the countercurse before he had to clean up anything. “Ah. Well. So.”

Zinedine had his head cocked. He was just kneeling there, his hands digging into Luís’ naked thighs, that _mouth_ of his all pursed up in thought as he peered into Luís’ face. Then he blinked. He moved his heels out from under himself so he could drop back between them, perfectly positioned for when Luís got off the damn counter and onto him. Nothing seemed to be wrong with Zinedine’s back, so they might as well use it. And get it out of the shirt full of pine needles, and on the floor, and there were noises going on behind them. Curious, Zinedine levered himself up to look but Luís refused to move out of the way. He stretched a leg back to kick shut the kitchen door, then pushed down Zinedine’s shoulders.

A half hour later, they were still on the kitchen floor and Luís could hear snickering on the other side of the door, but he didn’t exactly feel like chasing off the foxes yet. He pressed his face into Zinedine’s back between the shoulderblades. “We’re not letting them babysit,” he muttered. “Even if they owe me about a century of it.”

“Plenty of my relatives owe me the same,” Zinedine said absently. His muscles flexed under Luís’ chin, then shivered when Luís flicked his tongue over the spot where a wing would sprout. Then he twisted over and dragged himself up into a sitting position. He looked closely at Luís for nearly a minute, then relaxed against the cabinets. “You know, that’s why they married me off like that.”

“They…hid your marriage contract in a book because you were babysitting their children?” Luís said slowly.

Zinedine looked faintly embarrassed. “I think they saw it as, I was raising their offspring more than they were. I can understand.” He moved one arm over his lap, then scratched at his chest. A tiny feather came off and he twirled it between his fingers. His mouth thinned a bit. “Although I still think they could have said so before doing that with the book.”

“I can tell meeting them’s going to be _fascinating_ ,” Luís drawled.

The kitchen floor was too cold without Zinedine’s warmth. Luís reluctantly got himself off it; his hand came down on a piece of clothing and he picked it up, then sighed and started gathering those together. He had them all in his lap and was starting to sort them when he noticed Zinedine’s silence.

When he looked over, Zinedine was staring hard at him again. The hawk-demon shifted a little under Luís’ eyes, then rolled himself off the cabinets and slid over to sit in front of Luís. It really wasn’t accurate to call that kind of fluid grace “crawling,” and it certainly was distracting enough for Luís to momentarily forget they were having another serious moment. Then he made himself focus again, and discovered Zinedine looking annoyed.

“I thought we were fine,” Zinedine said. He glanced down Luís, then looked back up. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have—I know sometimes humans have sex to not talk about things, but I didn’t think we were doing that.”

“We weren’t! We…I mean, I didn’t think we were either.” Luís raked some hair out of his face. He needed a haircut, he absently noted. “I thought we were at, I’m going to think about it while living out your standard human life, and then we’ll come back to it. And I am going to look into it. I’m not just putting it off. I’ll check on options and if you want me to meet your family, I’ll do that, though I can’t guarantee good manners. And then I thought we had sex because you took offense to my being dressed in the same room as you.”

Maybe that last bit was testing Zinedine’s still-developing sense of humor too much. He wasn’t as tense but he was still staring at Luís with that impassive look on his face.

“Have you been up to Helen’s homeland?” Zinedine finally asked. He gave Luís a moment to be puzzled. “It’s cold. I came back and I still had ice in my bones.”

“Ah…yes. Every few years. I’ve met her family,” Luís replied, still unsure what the point was.

Zinedine looked down again, apparently at his clothes in Luís’ lap. “So I thought we needed to have the conversation first, but after that, I was cold.”

And so he’d—Luís stared hard at the demon, but that face didn’t betray even a flicker. Not that Luís believed that anymore. At least in this case. “I think I liked my version better.”

Zinedine lifted his head and continued the emotionless routine for another couple of seconds. Then those elegant planes suddenly relaxed into a broad, surprisingly mischievous smile. “But I’m _still_ cold.”

Rolling his eyes, Luís reached out and hooked one hand around Zinedine’s arm. He pulled the demon over; the clothes started to fall out of his lap before their bodies trapped them in place, but he ignored them. “If this is a hint to visit your homeland soon, all right already.”

“I think they’ll like you,” Zinedine murmured, nuzzling into Luís’ neck. His back muscles twitched under Luís’ caressing hand, and then his wings swept soundlessly out. They lifted up around them before curving down, so the two of them ended up in a small white circle. The air soon warmed up, the heat of their bodies gathered in by the feathers. “I’ll meet your family. If you want me to know them.”

“I…ah, well, I do, but you mostly have already. I think there’s just some distant relations back in Portugal left.” Luís stroked the edge of one wing, then stretched over Zinedine’s shoulder and let his lips brush over the feathers.

On their first date—those were that, even if they’d come after the engagement—Luís had managed to rile Zinedine just by asking to see the demon’s wings up close. But now Zinedine just flexed them into the touch, and let his head rest on Luís’ shoulder. What this was going to lead to forty or fifty years from now, Luís still didn’t know, but he was sure now that he wanted to be around for that. However he was.

* * *

Something rang off in the corner.

The noise slowly penetrated Paolo’s mind, until he finally understood it wasn’t a dream and was real. By now he had grown accustomed to most of the trappings of his new life, but dreams were still enough of an oddity that he was cautious about them. But no, it was a phone and someone should answer it. It might be—he stopped, blinking away the crusts from his eyes. They were still on vacation. It couldn’t be anything about the restaurant.

The ringing stopped.

Paolo tugged his arm loose and rubbed his eyes clear. Then he put down his arm on Zlatan’s back and gazed about the darkened room. He was still puzzling over the phone, but not with any real urgency. It was a little surprising how quickly he’d slid away from the insistent work-rhythms of the restaurant into this lazy haze.

The ringing started again. On Zlatan’s other side, Sandro grumbled and tossed a limb, sending a small wave of bedsheets flowing over to Paolo. Zlatan stirred slightly before burying himself more deeply into the bed. He took Paolo’s other arm with him, so Paolo slumped back and had to catch Zlatan’s shoulder to stay up. Then something caught Paolo’s eye.

He looked over just in time to see a small black object zoom over the bed. Paolo stiffened with a warding spell on his lips, but then realized what the thing was: Zlatan’s mobile. He blinked, confused. The mobile was just hovering there, shaking slightly with each ring, as if it was—

—it dropped down and started hitting itself against Zlatan’s back. It did that twice, while Zlatan grunted and wiggled, and then it moved up to hit Zlatan’s head. At that point Paolo reached out to stop it, but he’d barely lifted his hand when Zlatan abruptly twisted around and up. Paolo had the impression of a fanged scowl, an arm shooting out, a whirl of bedsheets.

Then he was naked and without any covers, and on the floor by the bed, a blanketed lump was snarling loudly. “What the _fuck_?” Zlatan was saying. “That’s the _apocalypse_ setting, Figo! Not ‘harass me ‘cause you feel like’—what? Wait, what?”

An angry sigh made Paolo look back at the bed. Sandro glowered back at him, knees clasped to chest as the other angel made visible efforts to leach the lingering warmth from the bedding. “What is that idiot doing?” Sandro snapped.

“ _What_?” Zlatan screeched.

The blankets came flying back onto the bed. They buffeted Paolo back onto Sandro’s head, and for the next few seconds, Paolo was too occupied with determining which way was up and then whether Sandro was all right for anything else. He finally got the blankets off and sat up, only to be confronted with a wide-eyed, openmouthed Zlatan. The demon was still on the floor, facing the bed but clearly not seeing it.

“You’re an inconsiderate lout,” Sandro said, levering himself up by Paolo. Then he saw what Paolo was seeing and was quiet.

Zlatan finally blinked, just as Paolo was seriously thinking about shaking him. Then he took the phone from his ear. He stared at it, shut it, stared at it some more, and finally dropped it. He shook himself, then got back on the bed. But he stopped at the edge, perching there and frowning at the far wall.

Paolo cleared his throat. “Zlatan?”

“I’m gonna be a godfather,” Zlatan blurted out. He shook himself again, then turned to look dazedly at Paolo. Then he rubbed his nose and started pulling himself towards the middle. “Okay, well, technically I maybe am gonna be, but if Figo’s actually doing research on it then he means it, and this is so weird—I _knew_ something was going to happen! I knew it! I told you Gianluigi wasn’t going to keep all the shit under control. He—”

Paolo ducked a flailing demon arm, then gently grabbed it. “Luís and Zinedine are planning to have…er, eggs? That’s—”

“I knew we weren’t the ones who were like chickens,” Sandro said.

Zlatan stopped flailing and looked at him, and Sandro abruptly hunched over and pushed his face into Paolo’s shoulder. Rolling his eyes, Zlatan flopped down so his head was in Paolo’s lap. He laid there for a moment, then twisted over to look up at Paolo, who had put an arm around Sandro. “He said they’re thinking about it—oh, it’s also Helen—and only after he finishes out his human life ‘cause obviously he can’t do this when he’s just human, even if he is a mage. So…”

“Does he want you to go back?” Paolo asked. As happy as he was for Figo and Zinedine, he couldn’t help a selfish pang at the thought of their vacation ending early. He hadn’t realized till they’d gone on it just how much time the restaurant ate up, and in light of their impending cohabitation it’d been helpful to have uninterrupted time alone. Mere renovations to the living quarters weren’t going to smooth over everything there, considering the misunderstandings they’d had just when Zlatan had had his own place.

“Huh? Oh, no. This is like, decades away.” Zlatan flicked a piece of hair out of his eyes. “He just called to say I had to be around then, so not to do stupid shit and get myself killed or something. Which I guess just goes to show that Zinedine’s making him weird, because when was the last time _my_ stupid shit was what started the trouble?”

Sandro opened his mouth and Paolo pinched him. Then Paolo kissed Sandro’s forehead when the other angel looked indignantly at him. “I think you’ll make a wonderful godfather,” Paolo told Zlatan.

“Better than those furballs, anyway,” Zlatan muttered. He looked up at Paolo for another moment, strangely pensive.

“Well, by the time you’ll need to do anything, I suppose.” Sandro arched his brows at Zlatan’s glance. “Right now you can’t even remember to put the dishes in the sink when you’re done eating.”

Zlatan drew in a sharp breath and Paolo raised his hand. Then he spotted the glint in Zlatan’s eye and dropped his hand, but he was too late. The demon had already lunged forward and pinned Sandro down, while Sandro’s furious, helpless laughter stuttered out. Sandro nearly caught Paolo with his foot in trying to escape the tickling. Paolo couldn’t help a smile himself, but then he composed himself and set about trying to pull Zlatan off. It especially wouldn’t do the two of them did away with each other now.

* * *

Ricardo was expecting the frisson that went up the back of his spine, but he still couldn’t help his shiver. He tried to mask it by leaning forward on the steps; he had his rosary out and the beads clicked briefly against the stone step before he wrapped them up around his hand. Then he looked up.

Cristiano smiled sunnily before dropping weightlessly down onto the step next to Ricardo. His jacket was now a black suit-coat with satin lapels, but he still had on the enormous sunglasses even though it was well after dark. He draped his arms over his knees and leaned in as he talked, so a trace of some strong aftershave whiffed towards Ricardo. “Decided you do like me?”

“No,” Ricardo said sharply, looking away. He pushed down on his feet to get up, then exhaled slowly. No, it hadn’t started as he would have liked, but if he left now, it wouldn’t end as he wanted either.

When he looked back at Cristiano, the demon was watching him expressionlessly. It changed Cristiano’s entire face. With no blinding smile, Cristiano’s eyes were flat and opaque, and the smooth planes of his cheeks seemed less boyish, more…impervious. He gave off the air of something hardened through long experience.

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “You never answered my question.”

Ricardo shifted on the step, listening to the soft rattle of his rosary. He flicked a bead through his fingers. “What question?”

After another moment, Cristiano smiled with his lips shut. Then he looked down at his feet, still smiling. He put his elbows up on the steps behind them and leaned back, breathing out loudly as he stretched his body. “Why would you ask ghouls where to find a Fallen One? They’re not that bright. And all they think about is dead bodies. So unless you…” Cristiano slid a half-curious, half-teasing glance over to Ricardo “…didn’t think so. You don’t look like that kind of lover.”

“I wasn’t asking them,” Ricardo said after a pause, a bit more curt than he should have. He rolled his shoulders, trying to work off the closeness of the demon’s barbs. “I only was…I wanted to know where they went during the day, where their hiding places were. They’re something in between heaven and hell, the dead and the living. I don’t know where Andriy is but from what I do know, he’s more like…he’d fall closer to them than to…to…”

“To somebody like me?” Cristiano snorted and wiggled a little as he found a comfortable position for his head. Then he put up his arm so that it brushed Ricardo; he ignored Ricardo’s stiffening and took off his sunglasses before hooking them on his shirt. After that he folded his arm under his head and stared up at the bright moon. “You’re—”

“I want to know how you even know about Andriy. And about me,” Ricardo interrupted. “I know I didn’t try to ask anyone like you.”

Cristiano blinked, then grinned and sat up. Somehow he ended up even closer to Ricardo than before, with his foot threatening to shove Ricardo’s off the step and his hip right up against Ricardo’s own. “So you do want help finding him?”

“I know what you are and I will hurt you if I have to,” Ricardo said, twisting away. He put his arm down between them and noted that Cristiano did flinch slightly from the rosary, which was twined around his hand. “Actually, I should exorcise you right now. You’re active and you’re hurting people—”

“Oh, I just help them fuck,” Cristiano retorted, rolling his eyes. His left brow arched. “What? I know you’ve never done it, but do you really think it _hurts_? Then why do people do it so much?”

Ricardo was not keeping nearly as good a rein on his temper as he would have liked—as he should have. He’d heard that jeer often enough, and had never cared particularly about it since it came out of a complete misunderstanding about himself. But Cristiano was setting him on edge and it wasn’t entirely the fact that Cristiano was an incubus. “No. No, I don’t. I may have chosen to abstain myself, but that hardly means that I don’t know how it goes. And that includes all of the betrayal and broken marriages and violence that comes from the unions _your_ kind tend to promote. It’s one thing to have a healthy love for each other and another to have what you encourage people to have.”

Cristiano went still and quiet, his mouth drawn up into a small tight fold, and Ricardo drew a breath for a countercurse. But then the demon abruptly threw back his head and laughed. The sound of his laughter made Ricardo jump, and then Ricardo jumped again as Cristiano, head still back, clapped Ricardo’s shoulder. The demon’s hand closed down as Ricardo flinched, holding him in place. Then Cristiano leaned his weight on his grip. He was still laughing, but it was trailing off into a wheezing chortle. “Oh…oh…look, priest, it’s just about _fucking_ for me. What people do with that, that’s all them. I don’t come up with all that bizarre shit about what it means and what’s going to happen afterward. I don’t even tell them how to do it. I just get rid of their excuses for not doing it.”

“I—that’s—you can’t just ignore the rest of it,” Ricardo said curtly. He tried to pull his shoulder away but couldn’t, and finally slapped at Cristiano out of frustration. A little late, he remembered his rosary.

The cross on it hit Cristiano’s hand, but the demon just brushed it away. Still gasping a little, he gave himself a shake and that movement finally made his hand slide. He sat back a bit to wipe at his eyes and the back of his hand had a long burn across it.

Ricardo must have hissed or somehow alerted the demon, because Cristiano suddenly stopped chuckling. He lifted his head and he still had a faint smirk playing about his mouth, but otherwise he was oddly composed. He cocked his head at Ricardo, then turned his hand around to look at the burn. His brows rose before he shrugged and just flicked out his tongue. It was long and black and sinewy, and once it’d gone over the burn, the burn was gone.

“Why not? I’m not the one who has to deal with it, and nobody says I have to help them deal with it. Nobody says they have to listen to me in the first place either,” Cristiano remarked in a bored tone. He studied his healed hand, then scratched off something with a nail. Then he glanced at Ricardo again. He sighed and turned to look fully at Ricardo, an exasperated expression on his face. “All right, how about I promise not to make somebody fuck in front of you and you stop being so stiff. I’ve got other things to do tonight and I can’t do this stupid argument forever.”

“It’s not a stupid—”

“Fine, fine, it’s not a stupid argument.” Eyes half-lidded, Cristiano impatiently waved off the objection. “So what is it?”

For a moment Ricardo bit his lip. He hadn’t talked to Lilian about this—at least, he hadn’t done whatever it was that they’d done in their last conversation. He was starting to regret that; he still considered it debatable how helpful it was to talk to demons, but Lilian did have the edge in experience there. “I already told you. I want to know—”

“I ran into him,” Cristiano said, shrugging. He frowned at the air, then reached up and began to tweak his hair. After a few seconds’ effort, he got out his sunglasses and…and started to use their lenses as an impromptu mirror. “He’s depressing, you know. At least you argue, even if you have funny ideas.”

“You found him?” Ricardo said sharply. “Where?”

Cristiano slid a sly look over and Ricardo belatedly tried to dampen his enthusiasm. But the demon was already grinning knowingly. “England. But don’t go booking plane tickets yet. He’s not there now. He got in a fight with a local band of redcaps and got a lot of us kicked out in all the fuss.”

“I wasn’t planning to go see him,” Ricardo said slowly. He looked down and saw that he had wrapped his rosary so tightly around his fingers that the flesh under the beads was white. When he unwrapped the string, the blood rushed into his hand and it began to ache. “Did he…so you found out about me from him.”

“Yeah. And no, he didn’t send me or anything. He doesn’t like—well, he acts like he hates all of us these days. Never really acted too friendly to plain demons anyway, so not a big change there.” After flicking his sunglasses back onto the collar of his shirt, Cristiano stretched his arms out in front of him till Ricardo could hear the muffled pops of his joints. Then he dropped his arms back onto the steps and blew out a breath. “He just talked about you a lot. It—do you know what he is? Because I think he can get drunk now, and Fallen Ones aren’t supposed to be able to do that.”

Ricardo shook his head, keeping his lips tightly pressed together. As eager as he was to find out what others knew of Andriy’s transformation, he didn’t want to reveal anything he knew about that that Cristiano didn’t. It seemed especially unwise if Andriy was picking fights with other demons—and Ricardo wished he knew more about how vulnerable Fallen Ones were. Andriy had let himself die before, but that seemed more and more like an act of willpower than a defensive weak point.

“He doesn’t want to see you,” Cristiano said casually, examining a nail he’d extruded into a claw. He stuck it in his mouth, chewed off a bit and then spit it to the side. Then he glanced at Ricardo. He smirked. “That’s what he says, anyway. I wouldn’t take it so hard. He’s probably lying. He’d like to see you for one thing, at least, and I should know—”

“If we’re going to talk then you can’t try to make me—make me—” Ricardo nearly used vulgar language, bit his tongue and jerked his hand viciously as a poor substitute “—I don’t want that.”

Cristiano blinked. “You sure?” He looked at Ricardo a moment, then shrugged. “All right, whatever. I promise not to make you and Andriy fuck.”

The demon snickered at the outraged noise Ricardo didn’t quite stifle. But he sprawled there on the steps, with no apparent intention to pursue the point further. That was hardly a guarantee, of course. But it gave Ricardo some time to compose himself and he found a grudging feeling of gratitude starting up in him towards the demon.

“So I heard him go on about you and I thought you’d be somebody I should know, since I’ve done a lot but I’ve never made a Fallen One die over me. Really, that’s impressive work there,” Cristiano said. “I thought you must be an incredible fuck.”

Ricardo pursed his lips a few times. “I’m not. I never—if he said anything like that—”

“But no, I can see you didn’t do it that way. Weird.” Brow furrowed, Cristiano stared out into space. He looked genuinely puzzled. Then he pushed himself up and looked speculatively at Ricardo. “Did you just nag him into it? With all that stuff about don’t hurt people or I’ll hurt you, because I’m a good priest blah blah blah?”

“I didn’t _nag_ —I don’t know what he said, but—”

“Oh, he’s not smearing your reputation or anything,” Cristiano snorted. His eyes narrowed a little, and then he turned away, shaking his head. “You’re pretty hard on him and you didn’t even let him fuck you. I don’t see what he gets out of it.”

Ricardo breathed in sharply. He had to look away himself, and then close his eyes because in the distance he could see the Duomo and the wound was already open without that. He rubbed at the side of his face, then pinched the bridge of his nose. His nails dug painfully into the corners of his eyes.

Something prodded his side. “Hey,” Cristiano said. “Hey. You were just getting fun.”

“Go away,” Ricardo snapped unthinkingly. “Go away. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

The demon didn’t reply, or make any other sound. He stopped prodding Ricardo and he wasn’t touching Ricardo anywhere else, so it wasn’t clear if he was still there. Ricardo attempted to sense whether that was so, only to give up a few seconds later. The church behind them was throwing him off and he couldn’t concentrate enough to ignore it.

“I’m still here.” Cristiano tapped Ricardo’s shoulder, then sighed when Ricardo didn’t respond to him. He shifted on the step, his shoes scraping against the stone. “He wouldn’t tell anyone where you were, by the way. It took me forever to track you down.”

“Well, you found me,” Ricardo muttered, taking his hand down from his face. He finally opened his eyes to stare at the ground between his feet. “Why are you still here? I’m not what you thought—”

“I knew that when I first saw you.” Cristiano looked irritatingly proud of himself at making Ricardo look at him. Then he shrugged dismissively. “Well, after that I thought, if it wasn’t the sex in the first place, then getting you two to fuck would be an even bigger thing. Hey, don’t get upset again. I promised I wouldn’t.”

Ricardo rolled his eyes. “You’re a demon.”

“And I could take all that messed-up desire in you and make you scream for Andriy, but I haven’t done it yet,” Cristiano said in an equally exasperated tone. He jerked his chin up at Ricardo’s disbelief. “I could. I haven’t done anything around you so you don’t know what I can do, and anyway, it wouldn’t be hard with you. Probably all Andriy would have to do is show up and you’d be laying yourself out for him. He’s got the right idea in staying away.”

“Did he say that too?” Ricardo sighed. He wasn’t truly interested. He was beginning to remember Cristiano had no particular reason to tell the truth, and he had no way to verify what the demon had been telling him. Frankly, he shouldn’t have wasted his time. Lilian was right: it was impossible to know for certain without directly asking Andriy what his reasons were, and Ricardo wasn’t going to be able to do that through Cristiano.

“Yeah, actually.” Something brushed against Ricardo’s sleeve, and then Cristiano stood up. The demon stepped down in front of Ricardo without looking back. “He said he wasn’t going to lead anyone to you, and he wasn’t going to lead you anywhere. He wants you to live in peace—that’s what he thinks you’re meant for. Personally, I don’t think so.”

Ricardo frowned at Cristiano’s retreating back. He put his hand down to push himself up, then jerked it back as he felt something. He looked over and Cristiano’s sunglasses were sitting on the steps, pinning down a long gray feather. Hissing, Ricardo looked back out, but Cristiano was nowhere in sight.

Pointlessly, Ricardo leaped to his feet and went down a few steps to search for the demon. But not even a trace was left, and after a few frustrated breaths, Ricardo went back up. He looked down at the fluttering feather, then bent to retrieve it and the sunglasses. All he needed was a touch to know.

For some time Ricardo remained hunched over with his hand on the feather. Finally he breathed out, and picked both items up. He straightened and ran one hand through his hair, trying to settle his thoughts. Then he turned around.

Gianluigi stood silently at the top of the steps. The angel was dressed in severe black with an odd, visceral splash of red at the throat, as if he was bleeding. It wasn’t till he took a few steps down that Ricardo realized it was only a scarf.

“You keep undesirable company at strange hours,” Gianluigi said. He removed his hands from his pockets; they were covered in black gloves. “I’ll see you home.”

After a moment, Ricardo decided not to object. He turned around, then put the sunglasses and the feather into his coat-pocket while he waited for Gianluigi to come down to him. When they were level, Ricardo started down the steps. 

The angel easily kept pace with him, but Gianluigi seemed uninterested in conversation and Ricardo was almost glad for that. They made good time through the mostly empty streets, reaching Ricardo’s building before false dawn had even begun.

Ricardo did pause at the door. “Did someone ask you to look for me?” he asked.

Gianluigi favored him with a coldly annoyed look. “No. Although Alberto seems to enjoy your company, and would be upset if you were foolish.” He interrupted Ricardo’s reply with a sharpening of his gaze. “Andriy managed to redeem himself for your sake. It remains to be seen whether he will keep to that, but nevertheless you’ve become…notable. I do not intend to ignore that.”

Then the angel turned and glided silently away. Ricardo watched him till he’d reached the edge of the courtyard before turning back and letting himself in.

It wasn’t much of a surprise to find Lilian standing by the door to Ricardo’s rooms. The two steaming cups in the other man’s hands were somewhat more of one, although once Ricardo had fully considered the matter, it made perfect sense. He tried to smile, felt the tightness in his face and gave himself a shake. Then he smiled again, properly, and went over to Lilian. “I’m sorry it’s so late. And for—”

“Well, you’ve returned,” Lilian said equably, glancing towards the doorknob.

Ricardo grimaced and hastily unlocked the door, then let them both into the room. Only God probably did know how long Lilian had been standing there, or how many cups of coffee he’d changed out to have them that hot for Ricardo.

Lilian handed one over as soon as he was inside, then paused. He wouldn’t ask but he did gaze thoughtfully at Ricardo, who ducked his head. “I was meeting with a demon. An incubus.”

“Well,” Lilian said.

“Oh.” Familiar affection made Ricardo look up through his equally familiar indignation. “I’ve decided the priesthood isn’t my path, but I’ve hardly given up everything.”

Of course the man was only teasing, and Lilian provided an unnecessary apology with a nod. But then his gaze became more precise. “Will you see him again?”

“I…” Ricardo looked away, then drank some coffee. He put his hand into his pocket and took out the sunglasses and the feather. Then he went over to his desk and placed the feather in a drawer and the sunglasses on the desk. He came back to Lilian and looked the other man in the eye. “I may. Probably. I think I need to know him—know more about him. He’s met Andriy, Lilian. And I need to know—I need to know Andriy. I don’t. I’m waiting for him and I don’t even know him. It doesn’t matter for waiting—I’ll wait anyway. But I need…while I wait, I need to know…talking to this demon’s not the same as being able to ask him, but it’s a start.”

“All right,” Lilian said. He paused, then came over and raised one arm as Ricardo stooped a little.

It wasn’t until Ricardo had embraced the other man that he realized how truly tired he was. He sagged against Lilian without meaning to, then grimaced at the effort it took to pull back. Lilian’s hand pressed against his back, then passed lightly over his hair.

“Then get a good night’s rest, Kaká. I’ll see you in the morning,” Lilian told him. The other man nodded towards Ricardo’s mug, which Ricardo had begun to extend towards him. “No, no, you can return it later.”

“Thank you, Lilian. I—it helps,” Ricardo blurted out.

Lilian blinked, then smiled. “Then there’s no need for thanks. Good night—no, I’ll see myself out.”

He did so, and then Ricardo was alone. He started to raise his cup of coffee, then put that down on a nearby chair. Then he went back to the desk. He opened up the drawer and looked at the gray feather for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, demon raptor!Zlatan is my favorite demon creation of all time, but couture snob incubus Cristiano is a pretty close second (the fox-demons are adorable, but there's just something about Cristiano swanning around Italy, checking out fashion shows while spreading sex and lust everywhere).


End file.
